


Your Faith Around My Neck

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU (Dom/sub), Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Caning, Cock Rings, Cock Worship, Collars, D/s-verse, Enemas, First Time, Flogging, Getting Together, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Moving In Together, Oaths & Vows, Relationship Negotiation, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Whipping, abuse of power (not C/C), dom!Phil, minor breath play, reference to past abuse (not C/C), sub!clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 72,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1796458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The collaring of Clint Barton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

" 'Scuse me please, coming through." Clint Barton had his bow case in one hand and a large duffle bag in the other. He was just back from a successful mission in Honduras, and wanted to get to his quarters for a long hot shower and a change of clothes before the debrief meeting started in an hour's time. 

"Hey, watch where you're swinging that thing!" said the agent he was passing in the hall. Clint knew he hadn't clipped the man—he was more careful than that, especially with his bow—but he recognized the agent as a Dom. So he turned and shot a "Sorry, sir" over his shoulder as he passed.

"That's not good enough!" the agent said sharply in a tone that Barton knew meant trouble. Internally he sighed; all he wanted was a fucking shower, and now some asshole Dom who couldn't leave well enough alone was going to mess with him instead.

"Come back here, Barton, isn't it?" Clint could hear the sneer in the man's voice. He stopped, pasting a bland, inoffensive expression on his face before he turned around. Usually he was pretty good at staying under the radar and not attracting too much attention to himself. Sometimes though, being an uncollared Sub meant that any Dom who had something to prove wanted a piece of him. This looked like it was going to be one of those times. 

"Someone needs to teach you some manners, Barton," the Dom said. "On your knees."

"No, sir." Clint said it calmly and quietly despite the anger that he felt.

"What did you say to me?"

"No, sir. SHIELD regulations say that I don't have to go to my knees for you, sir."

"I don't give a fuck what the regs say, Barton. You obviously need to be reminded what you are." The Dom swung a backhand blow at Clint's head. Clint ducked it, but otherwise didn't move. The Dom's expression turned murderous, and Clint realized he'd made a bad mistake. He should have just let the guy hit him, and that would have been that. Now that he'd humiliated the man by ducking his punch so easily, Clint knew he was in real trouble. 

Clint kept a tight grip on both his bow case and his duffle to stop himself from instinctively hitting back when he purposely let the next blow land. Taking a beating wasn't a problem; he'd done it more times than he could count, and this Dom probably wasn't stupid enough to go too far here in a main corridor at SHIELD Headquarters. 

The next punch landed on Clint’s jaw and knocked him sideways into the wall. He was shaking his head and blinking when he heard a familiar voice say sharply,

"What the hell is going on here?"

"None of your business, Coulson. I'm just teaching an uncollared Sub some manners." The Dom sounded confident, but Clint was close enough to see that the tips of his ears had gone a little pink. Clint wanted to grin at the idea that this asshole Dom was afraid of Coulson.

"Agent Barton is one of my assets, Jensen. That makes it my business. The fact that he’s an uncollared Sub doesn't give you the right to hit him. If you have a disciplinary complaint to make, I suggest you take it to HR." Coulson’s voice was cold and hard.

Jensen had turned away from Clint, and he obviously saw something dangerous in Coulson's face, because he backed down. 

"Maybe I'll do just that."

"Fine. I'll wait to see the paperwork on my desk." Coulson took a step that put him between Clint was and the Dom who'd been punching him. 

"I'm not through with you Barton," Jensen said over Coulson's shoulder then spun on his heel and headed down the corridor. Coulson watched him go before turning.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Clint dropped the duffle and put his bow case down so that he could wipe at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"Let me see," said Coulson, reaching toward his face. Clint ducked his head.

"It's nothing. I'm fine."

"I said, 'let me see'." There was steel in Coulson's voice all of a sudden, and whereas Clint had had no trouble resisting the explicit order to drop to his knees from that asshole Jensen, Coulson's tone was enough to make him lower his hand and lift his chin so that Coulson could look at his face. 

Coulson stepped in close and cupped Clint's uninjured cheek in one hand, tilting Clint’s head to get a better look at the injury. He drew a clean white handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it gently to the corner of Clint's mouth.

Clint was very glad of the ache in his jaw and the sting of his cut lip. They helped distract him from Coulson's gentle hand on the side of his face and the look of concern in his eyes, just inches from Clint's.

"It doesn't look too bad. Why did he hit you?" Coulson took the handkerchief away from the cut and looked into Clint's eyes with more concern than Clint figured the situation really warranted. Uncollared Subs got hassled by arrogant Doms all the time; there was nothing new about that. Hell, it happened to him regularly — though not so often in the years since Coulson became his handler. Coulson commanded a lot of respect at SHIELD, and there weren't too many Doms who thought that hassling one of Senior Agent Coulson's assets was worth the trouble. 

Coulson’s hand was still very distractingly on his face, though it moved as soon as Clint started to talk.

"He accused me of clipping him with my bow case, sir," Clint said, the 'sir' coming out easily and with genuine respect now that he was talking to Coulson. 

"You didn't."

"No sir," Clint said with a shadow of his usual cocky grin. “You know I respect my bow too much to be careless with it. I didn't clip him; he was just looking to hassle me. He ordered me to my knees and I refused."

"As is your right. SHIELD regulations are very clear on that."

"Yeah, he didn't seem to like me reminding him of that, either. That's when he decided to hit me. I shouldn’t have ducked."

"What do you mean, you shouldn’t have ducked?"

"I ducked his first punch out of habit. That made him mad. I let him land the next two." When Clint saw the angry expression on Coulson's face, he quickly explained, "Sometimes it's best just to take the beating. It lets them feel like they've taught you a lesson, and then things cool off."

"You shouldn't have to put up with that, especially not here, just because you're an uncollared Sub."

"Yeah, well, you know the score.” Clint shrugged, then picked up his duffle and bow case. “It's okay, it doesn't happen very often. Anyway, thanks for stopping to help."

Clint was starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable. Coulson was still right next to him, close enough to touch. Clint could feel the warmth of his body and smell his aftershave. How the hell Coulson still managed to smell so good after six hours of sitting on a transport plane was a mystery to Clint, one he didn't want to examine too closely. At least not until he was in the privacy of his own shower cubicle.

"I'll make a report," said Coulson. "I'm not going to let him get away with treating you like this."

Clint noticed that Coulson didn't say 'treating people like this' or even 'treating Subs like this'. Coulson wanted to protect him. That, plus the memory of the gentle hand on his cheek, made his stomach clench. He wished... He clamped down on his feelings, not daring to even think about the things he wished when Coulson was standing right next to him.

"I should make you go to Medical, if only to have the injury on file," Coulson said.

Phil knew how much Barton hated Medical, but he also knew that Barton would go if he ordered him to. Phil didn’t want to pull rank. Barton trusted him not to order him to do anything unnecessary or stupid, a trust that he’d earned by never once taking advantage of the fact that his asset was a Submissive.

"I was really hoping to have the chance to shower and change before the debrief, sir," Barton said, and Phil knew it was the truth. Barton may evade a question or fail to answer, but he never lied, not to him. 

"Yes, of course. Go on, then. I'll see you in debrief.” Phil figured that Barton had had enough hassle for one day, especially after a long, tiring op. “But I want you to tell me if anything like this happens again." 

Clint gave him a lopsided version of his characteristic cocky grin, and pushed off the wall.

"That's an order, Barton," Phil said, realizing he needed to make it one for Barton to take it seriously. If Barton was being hassled by anyone at SHIELD, Phil not only wanted to know about it, he intended to make it his personal project to ensure that the perpetrators were dealt with. Just like he was going to deal with Jensen as soon as he possibly could. 

"Yes, sir," Barton said. "And... uh, thanks again, sir. He probably would have hit me a couple more times if you hadn't shown up and stopped him."

Phil clenched his fists by his thighs to stop himself from gritting his teeth.

"You're very welcome," he said, and gave Barton a nod of dismissal. Barton smiled at him, a little crooked with his jaw already starting to swell, and headed off with a surprisingly jaunty step for someone who'd just been punched in the face by a co-worker.

What Phil wanted to do next was find Jensen and break his arm. And his fingers. One at a time. What he did instead was go to his office, call up Jensen's service record, and start to make notes about possible past... incidents until he had to leave for the post-mission debrief.

~~~~~~

Clint stood under the hot spray of the shower for as long as he dared while still giving himself enough time to dress in a clean uniform and get to the debriefing on time. He'd already jerked off to the memory of Coulson's gentle hand on his cheek, and the concerned eyes looking into his own. While he stood there with the water running over him, he let himself imagine Coulson ordering him to his knees, touching him gently on the chin to make him open his mouth, and then unzipping his fine wool suit pants... Clint's dick tried to twitch at the thought, and Clint sighed and turned off the water. Coulson ordering Clint to suck his cock was about as likely as Clint finding the courage to tell Coulson how he felt about him, and what he wanted from him. He thought about that as he toweled off quickly and dressed.

After what had happened today though, now that Coulson had made it perfectly clear that he did truly care about how Clint was treated, and had even said that he would protect him... maybe it wasn't such a crazy idea. Clint was pretty sure he hadn't been imagining the tenderness in Coulson's touch. He was sure he'd seen barely controlled anger when he'd told Coulson that Jensen would have kept on hitting him. For months now (or really, if he was going to be completely honest with himself, years) he'd been telling himself that his feelings for his handler were hopeless. That the small kindnesses were nothing more than Coulson did for any of his other assets, any other member of his team. Coulson looked out for him because it was in his nature as a Dom, sure, but also because that's the kind of man Coulson was. Honest, loyal, dependable, trustworthy... 

Clint sighed, and pushed the thoughts out of his mind. The best thing to do now was to get to the debrief on time, pay attention and give a good report. If he wanted Coulson to think well of him (which he very much did) he needed to be professional and competent. Clint squared his shoulders, pasted a professional and competent expression on his face, and went to the meeting.

~~~~~~

"...Agent Barton was able to time his shot with the tranquilizer dart perfectly, so that the mark went down just as he stepped behind a wall; concealing him from any onlookers on the street and thereby enabling Agents Fisher and Kim to proceed with the extraction.” Coulson gave his report to Agent Hill and Director Fury. "Everyone on the team performed in an exemplary fashion, leading to an efficient and highly successful mission. Special commendations to Agent Ortiz for her undercover work and Agent Barton for his flawless execution of the plan."

Clint sat around the big conference table with Fisher, Kim, and Ortiz. He kept his eyes on Coulson, and felt a warm glow at the praise. Clint had never been the type of Sub to turn to mush for any Dom who told him "good boy," but praise from Coulson always made him melt, probably because Coulson never said anything unless he truly meant it. 

"Sounds like another very successful operation, Agent Coulson. Congratulations, to you and your team. Have a good weekend everyone." Nick Fury swept his gaze across the room, dismissing the assembled agents.

As the meeting broke up and people filed out, Phil took Fury aside.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, boss?"

"What's on your mind, Phil?"

Coulson waited until Hill left the room and the door swung shut behind her.

"Did you notice the shiner Barton was wearing?"

"Yes, and I wondered about it. There's nothing in your mission report about him getting injured."

"That's because it didn't happen on the mission. It happened an hour ago, in the corridor just down the hall from here. Agent Jensen punched him, and would have kept on punching him if I hadn't happened by and stopped him.” Phil couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice as he spoke.

"What did Barton do?" Fury sounded resigned.

"Nothing." Coulson spat the word out and gave his friend a hard look.

"Okay, easy Cheese," Nick held up his hands. "I shouldn't have assumed, but you've got to admit that Barton has a reputation for having a bit of a mouth on him."

"So what if he does? Does that give Agent Jensen the right to assault him in a corridor?" 

"No, of course it doesn’t.” Fury straightened, ready to give the incident his serious attention. “What happened?"

Phil relayed Barton's explanation of the events that led up to Phil's arrival on the scene.

"And you believe he was telling the truth?" Fury’s tone was flat, asking only for information.

"Absolutely. Barton has never lied to me, and he wouldn't — not about something like that. He'd have taken a beating without complaining even if he didn’t deserve it. Hell, if I hadn't been there, he would have taken the beating and never said a word."

"You're probably right." 

"I know I am. And I know Barton deserves better than having to put up with a bully like Jensen. Hell, any Sub working for SHIELD deserves better than that.” Phil crossed his arms and looked determined, a look that Fury was all too familiar with. 

"So, what do you want to do about it?" 

"I want your permission to do a full investigation of Jensen's behavior towards uncollared Subs on base,” Phil said quickly, not mentioning that he’d already started the investigation, unofficially.

"Has Barton made a formal complaint?" Fury asked, surprised.

"No, but he will if I tell him to."

"Of course he will. You may proceed with your investigation, Agent Coulson.” Fury said formally, then his tone changed, his voice now angry, “Find out if the bastard's done this before, and if he has, I'll kick him out myself.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Though, you know, Phil, there's another solution to your problem." Fury leaned back now, propping one hip up on the conference table and crossing his arms. His expression softened again and he emphasized the word ‘your’.

"Oh, what's that?"

"Put a collar on your uncollared Sub asset.” 

“I offered Barton a sham collar when I became his handler. I would have been happy to let people believe it was mine to stop incidents like this from happening. He turned me down.” Phil said it with his chin held high, as if he expected a reproof from Fury for breaking protocol.

“Did it ever occur to you that he turned you down because he doesn’t want a sham collar, he wants a real one? Ask him to be your Sub. Don't look at me like that, Cheese, I know you want to." Fury let his exasperation with his friend come through in his voice.

"I can't."

"Why the hell not?"

“Because I refuse to take advantage of his trust like that, not after what it took for me to earn it in the first place. I won't ask him.” It was Phil’s turn to sound resigned.

"But you know he'll say 'yes'."

"I do. And that's the problem. I won't have a Sub for the wrong reasons, Nick, and especially not him. If I'm going to put a collar on him, I need him to submit to me because he truly wants to, not just because I'm his handler and I asked him to.” The long-standing explanation for his actions—or rather, lack of action—came easily, but then Phil reddened a little and looked away. “And let's face it, why would he want to? I'm short, balding, and middle-aged. He could do a lot better than me."

"You're a lot more than that, Phil. For one thing, you're a good man."

"I try to be, sir. Which is why I want to investigate Jensen, and help get rid of him if this turns out not to be an isolated incident."

"Jensen's a good agent." Fury’s voice held regret.

"Is he so good that uncollared Subs should need to worry about being assaulted in the corridors?" Phil was back to indignant in a heartbeat.

“No, of course not. Do your investigation, Phil. "

"Thank you, sir."

"But do something for me in return?"

"Of course, sir."

"Find a way to let Barton know how you feel about him — subtly. Just let him know that you care. He might surprise you."

"I doubt that, sir - " Phil saw Fury’s expression, "But I'll do it, if only to prove you wrong."

"That's the spirit, Cheese," Fury said ruefully, shaking his head as he left the conference room.

~~~~~~

Clint woke up bright and early Saturday morning as usual. Since he lived on base, Saturdays weren't much different from weekdays, except that there were usually fewer people in the halls (unless there was a big op on) and there tended to be fewer meetings (unless there was a big op being planned). Since he'd just finished a big op, and hadn't been told there was anything else coming up soon, he went back to his regular routine. Which meant two hours practice on the range with his bow and various guns, then two hours working out in the gym, then lunch.

After lunch he settled down in the big employee lounge to write his personal after-action report for the mission in Honduras. He could work in his quarters, of course, but he preferred the lounge, with the big TV on, and people wandering through. Especially on weekends where the number of people wandering through was smaller, and the number who wanted him to change the channel was almost zero. He picked a shopping channel (it was that or The Food Network) and let the perky voices wash over him as he concentrated on his paperwork. The thing about growing up in foster homes and then the circus was that having noise and bustle around him felt normal, comfortable, even if he didn't want to be a part of it. That's why the lounge on weekends with the TV on was perfect; enough background noise not to spook him, but (usually) no one tried to talk to him.

He did his paperwork carefully. During their first six months working together, Coulson had painstakingly taught Clint how to fill in the forms to his exacting standards. He’d been gentle with his corrections and lavish with his praise, in an understated way. That was one of the things Clint liked so much about Coulson: you always knew where you stood. If you fucked up, he told you, but didn't make you feel bad about it, unless you deserved to. If you did well, he let you know he was pleased. A quiet ‘Good job, Barton’ from Coulson was often the highlight of Clint's week.

It took him two hours to finish his report, checking it over carefully for mistakes. He knew Coulson wouldn't tease him about his spelling, the way some people did, but he tried to get it right anyway. Satisfied with the report, he decided to walk over and slip it under Coulson's office door now. That way he wouldn't run the risk of forgetting to do it later. He always made a point of leaving his reports waiting for when Coulson first arrived in the morning. He had no idea that the sight of a hand written report in his loopy scrawl on the floor of his handler’s office was one of the surest ways to make Phil Coulson smile on a Monday morning...

~~~~~~

It wasn't the least bit unusual for Phil to be at SHIELD Headquarters on a Saturday. Regular nine-to-five, Monday-to-Friday schedules had never been a part of his life, not when he was in the Army and certainly not as a Senior Agent with SHIELD. He’d just come off a (very successful) ten-day mission in Honduras, and sure, he could take a day to relax at home and catch up on things like laundry and cleaning the science experiments out of his fridge, but the sooner the post-mission paperwork got done, the better — while everything was still fresh in his mind. That's what he told himself when he let himself into his office at 9am on Saturday morning. He also told himself that he was going to get right to the Honduras paperwork, just as soon as he'd read through soon-to-be-former-Agent-if-he-had-anything-to-do-with-it Jensen's personnel file one more time... Phil had spent a pleasant hour before falling asleep last night imagining creatively painful ways to make Jensen regret ever having laid eyes on Clint Barton, let alone laying a hand on him. As a Dom, Phil’s tastes ran more to whips and chains rather than fear and humiliation, but he could always make an exception...

Phil's growling stomach told him it was lunchtime, and he went to get a sandwich and a piece of pie from the cafeteria. Standing in line, he saw Barton sitting at a table with Agent Tyler, one of the other snipers who lived on base, talking animatedly with his hands and smiling. Phil's stomach lurched again, this time not from hunger. He wanted... he wanted those gray-green eyes to smile up at him. He'd never put Barton on his knees. Not once. He knew most handlers put their Sub assets on their knees as a matter of formality when they started working together, and some used it as a regular disciplinary technique, but Phil had never thought that was fair. He refused to treat Barton (or any other Sub, for that matter) any differently from the Doms, Switches and Neutrals he worked with. No, the only circumstance under which Phil would ever order Barton to his knees was if he disobeyed a direct order in the field (which he had never done, not since Phil had become his handler) or if their relationship... changed. Which, regardless of what Nick seemed to think, was spectacularly unlikely.

Coulson got his lunch and slipped out of the dining hall without Barton noticing him, and headed back to his office. After his meal he spent two hours on the Honduras report, then sent out a batch of meeting requests to follow up on the clues and anomalies he'd found in Jensen's file and mission reports. He was packing up to head home when he heard a noise outside his office.

~~~~~~

Clint saw the light coming from Coulson's office and stopped, wondering what to do. Sliding his report under the door seemed a little silly when it was obvious that Coulson was there. He could knock, go in, and drop his report onto Coulson's desk. He would get Coulson's little nod of thanks and maybe a ghost of a smile, make some small talk and then he’d go — or he could sneak away and slide the report under Coulson's door later tonight. He told himself to grow a pair, and was just raising a hand to knock when the door opened and the man himself stood there, with a slightly surprised look on his face.

Clint's nerves resolved themselves into a laugh and a silly grin. 

"I was just about to knock, sir. I hope I'm not interrupting anything — what are you doing in on a Saturday, anyway?"

"I was finishing up my Honduras report. Is that yours?"

"Yes, sir. Hot off the presses. Here you go." Clint tried to grin his usual cocky grin and hoped like hell it didn't look stupid or forced or unnatural.

"Thank you, Barton. I'll just…” Coulson turned and stepped back to his desk to leave the report in the center of the clean blotter. Clint hovered uncertainly in the doorway, not sure if he should just leave or what. Before he could decide, Coulson was back and asking,

"How's the lip?"

Clint tilted his head so that Coulson could see the healing cut and purpling bruise.

"Not a big deal. It'll look bad for a couple of days, but I've had worse."

"Yes. Look, I want you to know, I spoke to Director Fury yesterday after the debrief meeting and he's given me permission to do a full investigation into Agent Jensen's behavior towards uncollared Subs on base. If I find out that he's done this before, to anyone, he's gone. With prejudice."

"Sir, I..." Clint was worried — so much for staying under the radar if there was going to be a full-scale investigation. But Coulson interrupted him. 

"Don't worry, Barton, it's not on you. I'm handling it, and I promise that nothing will come back to you. And no matter what the result of the investigation," Coulson's face changed and somehow got softer and more deadly at the same time, "I'm going to make sure he never hurts you again, Clint. I swear it."

Clint was stunned. Not only had Coulson just used his first name, and sworn to protect him as if he... as if he was Coulson's to protect, but he swore to do it even if the official investigation came up empty, which meant that Coulson was willing to take matters into his own hands. Against SHIELD policy. Against another Dom. For him.

"I... I don't know what to say, sir. Uh... thank you,” Clint stammered, and looked quickly away, unable to meet the intensity in Coulson's eyes.

"You're welcome." When Clint looked back up, Coulson's face had gone calm again. "Well, I'm heading out. Have a nice rest of the weekend."

"Yeah, thanks. You too, sir."

~~~~~~

Clint did not spend the entire rest of the weekend stewing about Coulson, just most of it. He turned everything over in his head again and again, but kept coming to the same damn conclusion. He wanted to be Coulson's Sub. Wanted it desperately. He’d been attracted to his handler for years. No surprise there; Coulson was handsome, intelligent, kind, and competent. But until now, he hadn’t thought much about actually offering himself to Coulson as a Sub. It had been years since he'd had a Dom, and the last couple... well, it hadn't been entirely his choice either time. He had a history of getting himself into bad situations, which was how he'd ended up at SHIELD in the first place, and since then, he'd been trying hard not to repeat past mistakes.

So he forced himself to think about this carefully, trying to be sure he wasn’t making a dumb assumption, or seeing something that wasn't there, just because he wanted it to be. Trying to be sure he wasn't about to do something incredibly stupid. But talking to Coulson in his office had been the last straw: Coulson had sworn—sworn—to protect him from Jensen. That wasn't just concern for an asset. It wasn't just looking out for a teammate. It couldn't be. It meant something, that Coulson felt something for him. Clint was sure. Well, almost sure.

Whether Clint had the balls to do anything about it, that was another thing entirely, but by the end of the weekend he'd pretty much decided that he had to, or drive himself absolutely crazy with wanting and wondering. Sunday night found him lying in bed, not sleeping, having already jerked off thinking about his handler, and refraining from banging his head against the wall only because Bukowski next door would give him hell for it tomorrow morning.

He was going to do it. He had to. He was going to walk into Coulson's office and tell him that he wanted to be his Sub. And if Coulson turned him down, then fine. Well, not fine, totally not fine, but better than this. Better than pining forever. Better than wanting and wondering and wishing and acting like a teenage girl instead of a grown-assed man. At least he'd know, and he could start getting on with his life. And if Coulson said 'yes'... Clint hardly dared imagine what it would feel like to have Coulson's hands buckle a collar around his neck, and maybe touch the side of his face gently after he did it... Clint spent a very restless night.

The next morning as soon as he got up, he turned on his SHIELD-issue laptop and checked Coulson's appointment calendar for the day. He had meetings booked until 11, seemed to be clear between 11 and 1, and then had meetings again from 1 to 4. Clint decided to skip the range, do his morning workout in the gym, go for a good long run, then be at Coulson's office a little after 11. Hopefully that would be a good time to talk to him.

Clint pushed himself hard at the gym and on his run, trying to keep his mind clear by focusing on his body. It mostly worked, and three hours later he was back in his room. He showered and shaved carefully, knowing that Coulson liked neatness, and then dressed in his newest, cleanest uniform. He even tied his boots up all the way rather than leaving them half done like he usually did when he wasn't on an active mission, and ran a comb through his hair. He looked at himself in the mirror. 

'Don't be a dope, Barton. He knows what you look like. He's seen you in full dress and he's seen you naked. He's seen you sweating and he’s seen you puking and he's seen you bleeding. It's not going to make a damn bit of difference...' Clint sighed and put the comb down. He looked at his watch, then squared his shoulders and headed for Coulson's office.

Clint nodded 'Hi' to the admin who served Coulson's section and asked, 

"Is he available?"

"He should be, go ahead and knock." Clint ignored the raised eyebrows at his appearance. He knocked on Coulson's office door with the distinctive 'rat-a-tat-tat' he always used, and waited.

"Come in."

Clint stepped inside but kept hold of the door. "Sir, do you have a couple of minutes?"

"Of course, Barton. Come in."

"It's, um, a personal matter, sir. Do you mind if I, uh..." 

"Go right ahead and lock the door behind you." Coulson moved his keyboard aside and folded his hands on his desk, giving Clint his full attention.

Clint turned the latch for the lock. He took a deep breath and walked over to Coulson's desk. Instead of standing in front of it, or sitting in one of the two guest chairs, he walked around to the side so that he was as close as he could get to where Coulson was sitting. Coulson looked up, surprised, but Clint didn’t say anything, he just dropped gracefully to his knees and bowed his head.

"Sir," he said, keeping his voice as strong and as steady as he could, "I would be honored if you would consider taking me to be your Submissive."

Clint waited, heart pounding, for Coulson to say something. When he did, Clint cringed.

"Barton, does this have anything to do with what happened in the corridor with Jensen?" 

'Fuck, he had to ask it that way,' Clint thought. 'I can't lie to him, I can't... How do I explain?'

"Indirectly, sir," he said.

"Look at me, Clint." The use of his first name startled Clint into looking up as much as the order did. Coulson had swiveled his chair so that Clint was directly in front of him. "I want you to always look at me when you talk to me, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"I can assure you that the matter with Jensen is being dealt with, but I understand if you've decided that wearing a collar is the best way to prevent such incidents from happening in the future. Like I've told you before, I'd be happy to have you wear one and let people assume it's mine, if that will help to keep you safe."

Clint forced himself to hold Coulson’s gaze and fought to keep his voice even.

"Thank you for the offer, sir, but I could only take a collar from your hand if it was real."

Phil was stunned by Barton's words. He was asking to be collared. For real. He was saying... he was saying that he truly wanted Phil to be his Dominant.

"Why is that?" The question slipped out before Phil realized he was asking it.

"Because... because I have feelings for you sir. I want..." Clint took a deep breath and, holding Coulson's eyes like he'd been ordered to, bared his soul. "You’re the best man I've ever known, sir. I respect you and I trust you. And I... care for you. The other day, in the corridor with Jensen, when you were making sure I was okay, it seemed like... well, it seemed like maybe you cared for me, too. If you do, sir, then I want to be your Sub."

"Clint, may I touch you?"

Clint laughed and his frayed nerves made it come out as a harsh bark.

"Fuck, Coulson. I've just said I want to wear your collar. You could fuck me over your desk, and you're asking permission to touch me. You've got more fucking integrity than - "

"Language, Barton."

"Sorry, sir."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Yes. Yes, sir, you can touch me."

Coulson laid a gentle hand on Clint's cheek, just like he had in the corridor. Clint fought himself, but lost, and pressed into the touch. Coulson's hand slipped back and carded through Clint's hair.

"I do care for you, Clint. I care for you a great deal."

The words hung there and Clint listened to the silence and the unsaid 'but'. The silence was broken by a small, sad sound, and Clint's ears went pink when he realized he had made it.

Coulson's eyes widened and his hand tightened in Clint's hair just a little. He rolled his chair forward a little and spread his knees so that Clint was kneeling between them.

"I'm not saying 'no', Clint. Look at me." Clint didn't realize that he’d dropped his eyes again until he dragged them back up to Coulson's face. The hand in his hair gripped firmly, but not tightly, and it was immensely comforting and reassuring. Clint let himself sink into Coulson's hold.

"I'm not saying 'no,' but I can't tell you 'yes,' either. Not right away. This is too big, for me. It's not something I can rush into. I need to be sure. And I need to know you're sure." Phil’s heart was pounding in his chest and the fact that he was gripping Clint by the hair was the only thing that kept his hand from shaking. He wanted Clint. Had wanted him for so long, but he forced himself to be calm and collected and do this right.

"I am sure, sir. I wouldn't be here, and I sure as hell wouldn't be on my knees for you if I wasn't. I want this, sir. Very much. I want you."

Phil dragged in a breath and closed his eyes, briefly, getting himself under control. The urge to simply take what was being offered to him was almost overwhelming, but Philip J. Coulson was made of sterner stuff, and he knew himself too well to let himself repeat his own past mistakes.

"I want you too, Clint," Phil said quietly. He looked down into the gray-green eyes that were staring up at him full of hope and longing. "I've only ever collared two Subs in my life."

Clint's eyes went wide in surprise. How could that be? Coulson was... well he was Coulson. How could he not have had a Sub whenever he wanted one? Maybe he'd had really long-term relationships? That could explain why he was so hesitant, if he was used to things being a certain way, and maybe Clint was very different from his last Sub...

"The first time was when I was young, and stupid. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I didn't, and I learned the hard way. It went on for much, much longer than it should have because I kept trying to fix something that couldn't be fixed. It ended very badly. For both of us. I was gun-shy for quite a while after that.” Coulson released his grip on Clint’s hair and went back to combing his fingers though the strands for a moment, then he slid his hand around to the back of Clint’s neck and let it rest there, warm and solid. His eyes were bright as he started to speak again. “The second time was eight years ago. He was a fellow SHIELD agent. I loved him very much and we were very happy together for just over three years. He was killed in the line of duty."

"I'm sorry, sir," Clint said honestly, touched by the remembered pain he could see on Coulson's face. Coulson gave him a small nod.

"You will find that I'm an odd combination of a traditional Dom with some more modern, progressive ideas about Dom/Sub relationships. I take collaring extremely seriously, and if we do this, I would want it to be a full-time, long-term relationship."

"That's what I want too, sir."

"Glad to hear it. But I won't go into that kind of relationship with someone I barely know, Barton, I can't."

"Barely know?" Clint was confused.

"We’ve worked together for almost four years, and I know you can hit a flea on a mouse's ear at 200 yards in the pouring rain. I know you like old movies and blue-flavored Gatorade. But I also know your file. I know you've been either betrayed or abandoned by everyone you've ever been close to. I know you've been collared without your consent, and I know you've been badly abused. I don't know what that's done to you. I don't know what it will mean for us. I don't know what you like and what you want and what you need from a Dom. I don't know whether I'll be able to give you what you need. I don't know if I'll be able to get the things I need from you. I don't know if we'll be... compatible."

Clint didn't know what to say to that. He couldn't help what had happened to him in the past. He couldn't help being broken. He could promise to be a good Sub, to take whatever Coulson wanted to do to him, but he was pretty sure that wasn't what Coulson wanted to hear.

"So what... do you want us to date or something?"

Coulson smiled at that. 

"Something. Come home with me tonight." Coulson’s hand slid back into Clint’s hair and gripped again, making Coulson's meaning clear. "We'll talk some more, and then I'll ask you to submit to me, and we'll see how it goes. And we'll take it from there. How does that sound to you?"

"Good, sir. Great. I'd... I'd love to go home with you."

"Okay then. Meet me here at six this evening. Bring your toothbrush." 

Coulson took his hand out of Clint's hair, and Clint absolutely did not whimper at the loss of contact, though he wanted to. Coulson pushed his chair back so that he was sitting behind his desk again, and Clint rose smoothly to his feet. 

"I... uh... I guess I'll see you tonight, then," Clint said, trying hard to not sound too much like an idiot.

"Yes."

"Okay." Clint sketched a wave and threw a grin over his shoulder as he left Coulson's office. He didn't collapse against the wall immediately outside. He walked, calmly (if briskly) to his quarters, locked the door behind him, and threw himself on his bunk. 

Coulson wanted him! Coulson wanted him! Coulson cared about him and actually wanted him for a Sub! Clint thought his face would cramp from how widely he was smiling. He didn't really understand what Coulson was going to want from him tonight, but as far as he was concerned, Coulson could want just about anything and Clint would give it, happily. He'd submit to pretty much anything to be Coulson's collared Sub. Sure, he'd been in some bad situations in the past, he'd had Doms that were cruel and had hurt him—not in the good way—but this was Coulson. Clint trusted Coulson. He could be hard, he could be a tight-assed stickler for the rules, he could be fucking scary when he needed to be, but he was fair. And honest. And Clint trusted him with his life. He was sure it would be okay. It would work out. Please let it work out. Coulson wanted him!

~~~~~~

Phil sat behind his desk resolutely ignoring the fact that he was rock hard in his pants. He needed a clear head. He carefully went back over what had just happened, and nodded to himself, satisfied that he'd handled it as well as he possibly could have, given the fact that Barton had unexpectedly appeared in his office and asked to be his Sub.

Barton wanted him. Phil was still trying to wrap his head around it. Barton had walked into his office, gone to his knees, and asked to be collared. And not just for safety, or for protection, because Phil had offered him that, no strings attached, and Barton had declined. Barton cared about him and wanted him. He'd said those actual words. ‘I care for you, sir. I want you.' 

Phil shifted in his chair, his hard-on continuing to make it difficult to think clearly, as images of Barton... of Clint naked, stretched out on his bed; of Clint on his knees, sucking him; of Clint's tight ass and broad back as he fucked him; played unbidden in Phil's mind. It had been so long since he’d had what he needed… much too long.

"Fuck it," Phil said quietly to the empty room. He got up, locked his office door, hit the 'Do Not Disturb' button on his phone, and unzipped.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint showered carefully for the second time that day and resisted the temptation to jerk off again while he was in the shower, just in case Coulson wanted him right away when they got to his place. Clint didn't want to have any trouble showing his enthusiasm, just because he'd whacked off too recently. Not that he thought he'd have any trouble in that department. It had been far too long since he'd been with a Dom, and just the thought of Coulson ordering him to... well to do anything, really, was enough to make his dick twitch. He cleaned himself out thoroughly, not knowing what Coulson’s preferences were, but figuring it couldn't hurt to be prepared. The idea of Coulson bending him over and fucking him... he'd happily take anything, anything Coulson was willing to give him, but being fucked would feel so good...

Clint climbed out of the shower, toweled off, and dressed. He put on his best casual clothes: a pair of fairly new black jeans and a tight purple t-shirt that showed off his arms particularly well, he thought. He threw a battered brown leather jacket over it, and grabbed a rucksack. When Coulson had said ‘bring your toothbrush,' Clint was pretty sure that meant he'd be staying overnight. Too many images of nights spent curled up on cold floors next to his Dom’s bed came to mind, but he pushed them away. Coulson would treat him better than that, he was sure. Clint didn’t really mind sleeping on the floor, so long as he was warm enough. He was sure Coulson would let him have a blanket. Almost sure, anyway. And if he behaved really well, Coulson might even let him sleep across the bottom of his bed, but Clint didn’t let himself hope for that. 

Clint packed his shaving kit, toothbrush, and deodorant. He threw in a change of socks and underwear and a clean t-shirt. He looked around, trying to think of anything else he might need, and tossed in a half-empty bottle of lube. Coulson would surely have his own, but... He checked his watch, hoisted the rucksack over his shoulder, and headed for Coulson's office.

Coulson was standing outside his office talking to his admin when Clint arrived. Clint stayed a few paces away, knowing full well that Coulson had seen him. Clint didn't want to get in the way or overhear anything that was above his clearance level. He waited, burying his nerves and projecting the same outward calm that he did when he was working, up high on a perch, waiting for a mark to show. 

"Excellent, thank you. See you tomorrow," Coulson said to the admin, then picked up his briefcase and nodded to Clint. "Let's go."

Clint fell into step beside him, and was surprised when Coulson led them out the main door instead of heading for the parking structure.

"My apartment is about six blocks from here. I always walk."

"Sure, sir."

As they walked, Coulson told Clint a little about the investigation into Jensen.

"I'm quite sure this is a long-term pattern of behavior for him. Some people are just bullies. I'm interviewing uncollared Subs who have worked with him over the past couple of years. I'm going to find out what's been going on."

Clint didn't have anything to say to that, so he kept quiet.

"Chinese or Mexican?"

"Sir?"

"For supper. We're picking up food on the way, and the closest decent places are Chinese and Mexican. Which would you like?"

"Whatever you want is fine with me, sir."

"I'll tell you when I want you on your knees, Barton," Coulson said sharply, and to Clint’s surprise, Coulson turned on him and crowded him roughly against the wall of a coffee shop. 

"Sir?" Clint tried not to squeak.

"When I want your submission, I'll tell you. When I ask you a question, I want an honest answer. Not what you think I want to hear. I want the truth. Always. If you lie to me or evade or tell me what you think I want to hear, then this is going to be over before it starts. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir,” Clint said. He felt relieved. Answering Coulson’s questions honestly was going to be easier that trying to figure out what he might want to hear. 

"You don't need to be on your best behavior, Barton. This isn't a test you're going to pass or fail. It's about us getting to know each other, and trying to find out if we could be good together."

"Sorry, sir, but it's going to be hard for me not to think of it as a test." 

Coulson sighed. "I know. Just try to be yourself, for me, okay?"

"I'll try sir. Chinese, please."

"Good."

~~~~~~

They were sitting at Coulson's dining room table, eating Chinese take-out. Coulson had insisted on serving the food out onto real plates rather than scarfing it straight out of the containers like they did when they were on a stake-out, and Coulson quizzed Clint on his food preferences while they ate.

"Favorite dessert?"

"Ice cream. You?"

"Chocolate fudge brownies."

"What, not pie? You always have pie in the cafeteria."

"You've been tracking my dessert habits, have you?"

"Hey, I'm a sniper, I notice things. It's my job." Clint gave Coulson a small grin, relaxing a little now.

"The cafeteria makes better pie than brownies."

"True."

“Are you done?" Coulson asked, gesturing to Clint's empty plate.

"Yes. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Phil started to clear the table.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Thanks, no. I'm just going to put these in the dishwasher. Go sit on the sofa, I'll be there in a minute." 

Clint listened to the clattering noises from the kitchen and looked around the living room. Big TV, bookcases full of books, one of which was topped with a small assortment of vintage Captain America memorabilia, another with pictures of what Clint assumed was Coulson's family. The wood was dark, heavy, solid, and the color scheme of the soft furnishings was dark blues and browns. It was pretty much exactly what Clint had expected Coulson's apartment to look like.

Coulson came into the room and sat next to him on the sofa.

"So. Here we are."

"Yeah."

"I... sorry,” Coulson said, and smiled a small smile, “this is a little awkward. I've never done it this way before."

"Me either."

"What we do here tonight is going to be intense, for both of us. So before we start, I need to ask you one more time, are you absolutely sure this is what you want?" 

"Look, Coulson - "

"Phil."

"Sir?"

"My name is Phil. When we're alone, and off the clock, if you're going to call me something other than 'Sir,' I'd like it if you called me 'Phil'."

"Okay, Phil,” Clint said slowly, his mouth quirking into a somewhat nervous grin. "You know my file. You know I've been in bad situations in the past. Some of them weren't my fault, some were. I made some bad choices. I ended up with bad people, and I got treated like shit for my trouble most of the time. Until I joined SHIELD, I was pretty sure that all Doms were like Jensen, or worse."

Coulson opened his mouth to speak, but Clint held up a hand.

"It's okay; I know better now. Now that I've worked with people like you and Sitwell and Hill and Fury. Look, I haven't had a Dom since I've been a SHIELD agent, because I didn't trust myself not to screw up again, to end up as someone's Sub without really knowing how I got there. My usual system was to go home with someone who looked good in a club, and then run away six months later after they'd broken a couple of my bones."

Coulson opened his mouth again, but this time shut it before Clint even got his hand up. 

"I realize that was pretty fucked up, you don't have to tell me. What I'm trying to say, is that this is the first time in my life that I've met someone and learned to trust them and grown to like them and respect them first, long before I started to think about Subbing for them. The first time I thought I was making a good decision. Phil, you’re the first Dom that I’ve ever freely offered myself to, because it was what I truly wanted."

"Okay." Phil's voice was soft. His hand came up and carded though Clint's hair a couple of times. "Okay," Phil said again, and put his hand back in his lap. His posture changed subtly.

"What's your safeword?" 

Clint could hear the slight change in tone. Some of the softness was still there, but there was command now, too.

"Harrier."

"I need you to answer me truthfully. Have you ever had your safeword ignored?"

"Yes, sir." 

"Do you want to change to a different one?"

Clint thought about that for a minute. He understood what Coulson was asking, and why. 

"No sir, I'll stick with it. I'm afraid I might not remember a new one if I changed it."

Phil nodded. "Okay. Mine's 'Beretta'."

"Um, sir, what do you mean 'yours'? Why do you need a safeword?"

Phil smiled. 

"Remember when I told you that I have some traditional ideas and some more modern ones? This is one of the modern ones. I have a safeword so that I can stop a scene if I need to, in a way that lets you know unequivocally that it's my issue. That you haven't failed, or disappointed me or done anything wrong. If I need to stop, because I get a headache or a leg-cramp, or if things aren't working out the way I wanted them to, or I'm not happy with the way I'm handling something, I'll call my own safeword, and you'll know that it's because I need to stop for my reasons. Understand?"

"Yeah. I guess that makes sense. Um, thanks."

"Are you ready to start?"

"Yes, sir."

Coulson got up off the sofa and stood in the clear space between the coffee table and the TV. 

"Come here." Clint was beginning to recognize what he thought of as Coulson's 'soft command' voice. It was like velvet over steel, and to Clint's ears, it was both seductive and powerful. He stood in front of Coulson and waited.

Coulson looked at him. His gaze was so intense, it felt like Coulson was looking into him. Clint wanted to drop his eyes, but he knew he shouldn’t. He knew, somehow, that Coulson wanted this, wanted to see... whatever it was he was looking for.

"On your knees." The command, when it came, was barely above a whisper but Clint's body was obeying before his mind had even caught up. He sank to his knees on the thick rug, grateful for it, and realized that Coulson had chosen this spot for exactly that reason. Clint forced himself to breathe evenly, and not to tremble. Coulson just looked at him for a minute, and then spoke again, softly. "Hands behind your back." 

Clint put his hands behind him and grabbed his right wrist with his left hand. He knew he could hold this posture for hours, if necessary.

"God, you're beautiful like that." Coulson's voice held awe, and Clint didn't understand. He was just kneeling, submitting and obeying, and looking up at Coulson. At Phil, he corrected in his head. Phil, who was standing in front of him, looking down at him, and reaching out and sliding a hand into his hair, again, running his fingers gently through the strands above Clint's left ear. It felt so good.

"What are your hard limits?"

Clint swallowed. Fuck. 

"I don't really have - " he started to explain, but Coulson cut him off.

"Clint." Coulson's voice was sharp and commanding and he fisted his hand in Clint's hair, holding hard.

"There's... there's nothing that I can't take... that hasn't been done... I mean..." Fuck. Coulson's first question and Clint had already screwed this up. Now he understood what Coulson had meant when he said that Clint's past might make it impossible for them. Clint didn't have a normal Sub's history with a nice neat little checklist of things he did and didn't do.

"Clint, have your hard limits been ignored in the past?" Coulson was using his soft-steel voice again, and it, along with the tight fist in his hair made Clint want to wrap his arms around Coulson's knees and beg to be fucked. He fought both his arousal and his fear to hold Coulson’s gaze and answer,

"You could say that, sir.”

"More than ignored, then. Used against you. Someone made you tell them everything you hated having done to you, and then did those things." Coulson’s voice held cold fury.

"Yes, sir."

Coulson closed his eyes for a moment, and then sounded resigned.

"I need you to trust me, Clint. If this is going to work, you have to be able to trust me."

"I do trust you, sir! I trust you with my life!" It was true, he did, and he thought Coulson knew that.

"Yes, I know you do. At work, and in the field. You trust me to give you the right orders. You trust me not to lie to you. You trust me to have your back, and you trust me with your life. But this is different, isn't it? It's more than that. Harder." Coulson's fingers had gone back to combing through Clint's hair while he'd been speaking, but now they gripped again.

"I need you to trust me with this, Clint. I need you to tell me. What do you hate?"

Clint, looking up into Coulson’s—into Phil's—eyes, saw a gentleness that he didn’t understand, but trusted anyway.

"Being humiliated. Being pissed on. Being... laughed at. Being treated like a dog. Being called a cunt or a slut or a whore. Being... being told I'm stupid, or worthless." Clint's words came out in jerky little dribbles as he forced himself to tell Phil the truth. To give Phil that power over him.

"Good. Now tell me, Clint. What do you fear?"

Clint's eyes slipped away from Phil's face, trying to hide, and Phil's hand in his hair tightened. He dragged his eyes back. Back to Phil's eyes. He could do this. Phil would understand. Phil was his handler. Phil knew he was a sniper. Phil would understand, he would. He would.

"Blindfolds," Clint whispered. He feared having his sight taken from him more than anything. He could cope with anything... anything, as long as he could see, but take his sight from him and he panicked, he lost it.

"Clint look at me." Clint's eyes must have drifted away again, afraid of the reaction he might see on Phil's face. What he saw when he looked was... something he didn't recognize, and couldn't interpret.

"Clint, I will never do any of those things to you. Ever. I swear it. Do you believe me?"

Clint swallowed. “Yes, sir."

"Do you truly believe me, Clint?"

Clint stopped. Thought. This was Phil Coulson. If he swore...

"Yes sir. I do."

"Good. Good. You're doing very well, Clint. I'm pushing you hard and you're doing very well."

"Thank you, sir."

"Normally the next question would be 'what are your soft limits,' but I'm thinking it would be better if I just asked you to tell me what you don't like."

"I don't like being made to wear outfits, like corsets and stockings, or diapers, or shit like that. I don't like being ignored, as if I'm not there. I don't like mind games — having to figure out what someone wants from me. I don't like being made to do stuff that's stupid or pointless, just to be following orders. I don't like being tied up and left alone."

"That's not - " Phil stopped himself from saying 'safe'. Of course it wasn't fucking safe. The Doms that Clint had had before obviously didn't care about safe, sane, and consensual. "How long were you left for?"

"Hours, sometimes. Days, once."

Phil wanted to demand the Dom's name so that he could hunt him down and kill him, slowly and painfully. Instead he took a deep breath, focused, and asked,

"What else?"

"I don't like being set up to fail."

"What do you mean?"

"I had a Dom once, he did this thing where if he'd had a bad day, he'd give me some impossible task, something I knew I wasn't going to be able to do to his standards. So while I was doing it, I knew I wasn't doing it well enough. I knew it was impossible to do it well enough to please him, because that's why... He'd just given me the task as an excuse to beat me, because he'd had a bad day. I didn't mind the beatings, it was being set up to fail that I hated. If you have a bad day, just tell me you're frustrated, and you're going to take it out on my back. That's fine, I'd prefer that. I'd like it, even."

"Why would you like it?"

"Because it would make me feel useful. Needed." Clint’s voice was small, and Phil’s heart ached for the loneliness he could hear in it. He slid his hand down to Clint’s cheek and stroked the side of his face, needing to give what comfort he could — for his own sake as well as Clint’s. After a minute, though, he moved his hand back into Clint’s hair and gripped firmly, grounding them both.

"Okay, Clint. Tell me what you like."

"I like pain. I like whips and floggers and nipple clamps and wands. I like being used in ways that aren't degrading."

"Give me an example."

"Um, like fucking my mouth. Or rubbing off on me, things like that."

"What else?"

"I like being naked. I like being on my knees." Coulson's hand tightened painfully in his hair and he gasped.

"Don't lie to me." Phil’s eyes flashed with anger.

"I'm not, sir!"

"You hate being on your knees. I've seen you kneel for other Doms and you hate it with every fiber of your being." Phil’s voice was low and menacing.

"I hate kneeling for someone who doesn't deserve it, sir,” Clint explained, his eyes wide and his tone pleading. “For someone I don't respect. For someone who's ordering me to kneel just to show that they can. I like being on my knees for you, sir. I like it a lot."

"I'm sorry." The hand in is hair gentled, and Clint blinked, confused. Then he realized that Phil was apologizing for doubting him. For assuming he was lying. 

"That's okay, sir." He smiled up at Phil, a warm, grateful smile. Phil’s thumb rubbed tiny circles just above his ear. Clint desperately wanted to turn his head to nuzzle and kiss Phil’s palm, but he held himself still, and held Phil’s eyes.

"What else do you like?"

"I like being fucked. I like having something in my ass, a plug or a dildo, when I'm having something else done to me, like being whipped or something. I, uh... like being told when I'm doing good."

Phil's hand was carding through his hair again, and every so often his thumb would brush the side of Clint's face.

"What do you love, Clint?" Phil asked softly.

"I love sucking cock, sir. I'm really good at it."

"Glad to hear it. What else?"

"I... I love being touched, like you're doing now, sir. Just, ah... having someone's hands on me, on my skin. I love that."

"What else?"

"I love hugging and... cuddling." Clint's voice was a tiny whisper. "I love being kissed."

"Good. You're doing very well, Clint. Very well for me." Phil slid his fingers tenderly through Clint's hair again, and now brought up his other hand to cup Clint's jaw and tilt his head up so that their eyes were locked.

"Now, tell me what you've wished for, but never had. What you've dreamed of having a Dom do for you."

"Sir..." It was a plea. 

"You may close your eyes, Clint. And then tell me." Clint's eyes slipped closed. Phil held his face gently, and spoke softly. “Tell me. I want to know."

Clint tried. He tried to say the words. He didn't know if the things he wanted... He didn't know if they were even real. He'd only ever seen them in movies, or on TV. They could be like unicorns for all he knew — something that everyone else knew was fake... But Phil wouldn't laugh at him, and Phil wanted to know. Phil, who was touching him so gently.

"Just... being cared for, sir." The words came out around a lump in his throat. Phil's hand in his hair slid back to cup his head and draw him forward. Clint's eyes were still closed, but he felt the fabric of Phil's suit pants on his cheek as Phil held him close.

"Cared for in what way?"

Phil was holding him. Phil cared about him. It was safe to tell Phil.

"Like being... washed, or... fed."

"No one has ever done that for you, Clint?"

"No, sir."

Phil’s fingers stroked his cheek tenderly for a long time.

"You've done well, Clint. Very well. I pushed you very hard, and you did very well for me. Are you ready to go on, or do you want to stay here like this a little bit longer?"

Clint wanted to stay like this forever. Just this, being held and touched, was so much more than he'd had in so long. But Phil wanted to go on. Clint opened his eyes. He could see the fabric of Phil's pants, and the bulge of Phil's cock. Phil was hard? Why was Phil hard? It couldn't be just from holding him and touching him. Could it be from pushing Clint to answer questions? That made a certain amount of sense, Doms got off on making their Subs do things, and Phil was all about having the right data, so maybe... Maybe Phil wanted... 

"I'm okay, sir. I'm ready to... ah, go on." Clint tipped his head up so that he was looking at Phil while he spoke, as he'd been told to. Phil smiled at him, and then released him and stepped back. Clint felt the loss of contact keenly, and it must have showed on his face because Phil said,

"Don't worry, I'm going to touch you again. Very soon. Get up."

Clint rose off his knees.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"No, thanks. I'm okay."

"For future reference, it's that door there." Phil pointed at a closed door in the left-hand wall. "Come on then." Phil led him through another other door into the bedroom. Clint stopped and stared.

The theme of rich dark wood and navy-blue furnishings continued in the bedroom. There was a chest of drawers, an armchair, a free-standing wardrobe, a cabinet, and two bedside tables. But it was the bed that Clint was staring at, open-mouthed. 

It was... huge. King-sized, Clint supposed, and made of dark wood and black metal - wrought iron, maybe? The headboard was five feet high: a heavy wood frame into which were set vertical metal bars at... appropriate intervals, with a cross-bar halfway up. The footboard was similar, maybe only (only!) four feet high, with a wooden top rail that was at least three inches wide and rounded at the edges. Clint could easily imagine himself gripping it, naked, while being whipped or fucked or... The sides of the bed were the same dark heavy wood, with a metal rail running along the top edge, like on a boat or an old-fashioned bar, and at intervals along the wooden sides were inset black metal cleats and rings. In other words, it was a king sized-bed specifically designed to be tied down to. Clint's mouth went dry.

"Sorry,” Phil said with a wry smile. “It's been so long since I brought someone here, I forget how it looks."

"It's beautiful," Clint said honestly. It was. It was the nicest bed he'd ever seen in real life. The dark wood was rich and gorgeous and the black metal made it... stately. It was topped with a thick navy-blue coverlet that matched the dark blue pillowcases and sheets underneath. 

"I'm glad you like it," Phil said and Clint looked to see if he was being teased, but Phil seemed serious. "Strip. You can put your clothes on that chair." Phil pointed at the armchair, and then stood, watching.

Feeling a little self-conscious, even though he reminded himself that Phil had seen him naked before, Clint stripped off his t-shirt and dropped it on the chair, then lifted each foot to take off his socks before unbuckling his belt. He dropped his jeans on the chair and then shoved his underwear down and added it to the top of the pile. He turned to face Phil, who hadn't moved. 

"Stay there." 

Clint stayed, and while he wondered what was going to happen next, Phil looked him up and down. He seemed to be letting his eyes catalogue everything he remembered, and carefully examining everything he didn't. He looked at Clint's muscled shoulders, his prominent collarbones, his wide pectoral muscles. He looked at Clint's small, dusky nipples nestled in light, sparse hair. Phil looked at Clint's flat, toned stomach. He looked for a long time at Clint's long, half-hard dick that was twitching occasionally under his gaze. 

Clint felt his dick filling and twitching and his ears turning pink under Phil's scrutiny. As Phil examined Clint, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled his sleeves neatly up to the elbows. Clint wondered if it was crazy that he found even that erotic.

"Turn." Clint turned so that Phil could make the same careful examination of his back. This time Phil stepped close, Clint could feel Phil's breath on the back of his neck, and then, the touch of a warm hand. Clint didn't jump.

"Just me," Phil said from behind him, squeezing the back of his neck a little before running the hand slowly down Clint's spine to the small of his back and resting it there. 

"What's this from?" With his other hand, Phil drew a line across Clint's left shoulder blade, following the white trail of a scar.

"Went backwards through a window."

"And this one?" Phil's fingers brushed his left side, near the bottom of his ribcage.

"Knife fight. I won, eventually."

"Hmmm. We won't be doing anything too... involved tonight. This was unexpected, so I'm not prepared to do a full scene. But I want to start to learn your body, at least."

Clint shivered at the words, despite the warm hand still at the small of his back, and Phil gave a low, dangerous-sounding chuckle in reply. 

"Up, on the bed. Lie on your back in the middle." Phil gave a little shove with the hand on Clint's back and Clint scrambled to obey. He lay on his back, still looking over at where Phil was standing beside the bed, because he hadn't been told not to. His dick was fully hard now, and jutting up obscenely. Phil smiled.

"You look good naked in my bed. Naked and hard. Very good." Phil climbed up onto the bed and sat on his heels next to Clint.

"Reach up and grab the bars of the headboard for me." Clint did. Phil looked at him, considering. "A slightly wider grip, I think. Move your left hand over one." Clint did. "Yes, I like that better. Now," Phil positioned a pillow under Clint's head, and moved the others out of the way, then sat back again, looking at Clint stretched out in front of him.

"Are you okay like that?"

"Yes, sir."

“Can you hold that position for a while?"

"Hours, if I need to," Clint answered honestly.

"Good. Here are the rules. You don't move. You don't let go of the bars, you don't move your head, you don't move your body or your legs. You can flex, and shift your grip, but if you start to squirm too much, I'll give you a warning. If you can't hold yourself still, I'll tie you down, instead. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Safeword if you need to. I should have said this before, but I didn't think of it until just now.” Phil’s lips thinned to a hard line for a moment and he shook his head slightly. “Calling safeword does not mean you've failed. It doesn't mean we give up on this thing we're working towards. We're new at this, together, and things might be a little rocky at first. That's normal. I need you to promise me that you'll call safeword if you need to, Clint."

"I will, sir. I promise."

"Good. You can make as much noise as you want to; the room is sound-proofed. In fact, I want you to make noise. I'm going to touch you. Everywhere. I want you to let me know what feels good. I want to hear you. I want you to moan. I want you to swear. I want you to scream if you need to. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any questions?"

"No sir."

"Okay." 

Clint wasn't expecting Phil to swing a leg over and straddle his chest, but that's what he did. The fabric of Phil's suit pants felt strange, hot and a little scratchy, against his skin as Phil settled his weight, dividing it between his knees and Clint's chest. Phil's hands came up and cradled his face, fingernails scratching lightly into his hairline and thumbs running along his jaw. The fingers moved, sliding around behind his ears, and then trailing down to the sides of his neck. Phil's left hand settled on his shoulder, while his right explored the contours of his face with soft fingertips. Clint began to breathe heavily as Phil traced his jaw, his chin, his lips, his cheeks, his eyebrows, and then slid fingers up his forehead into his hair.

Clint was achingly hard. Just from Phil straddling his chest and touching his face with his fingertips, he was more turned on than he could remember being in years. From submitting to Phil, holding himself still at Phil's command. Phil, who was still fully dressed, and was doing no more than stroking his face. Clint felt like he would go off like a rocket if he got the slightest friction on his dick. He hadn't asked if he was allowed to come. Phil hadn't said anything about it. He'd just said not to move. Did coming count as moving? Clint didn't think so. He needed to stop thinking about coming. Phil's fingers were trailing down to the side of his neck and as they brushed a sensitive spot on the underside of his jaw, Clint moaned softly. Phil stroked the spot again, lightly, and Clint moaned again.

"Good," said Phil, and the hand on Clint's left shoulder squeezed, and then rubbed in small circles for a moment before settling again. Phil explored the other side of Clint's jaw, and got the same response from a similar spot. He moved his hand off Clint's shoulder so that he could use both hands at the same time, stroking – oh, so lightly – at the two sensitive spots he'd found. Clint moaned again, and his eyelids fluttered before he pulled them back open.

"You may close your eyes if you'd like to, Clint. I'll let you know if I want you to look at something."

"Thank you sir." Clint considered asking if he was allowed to come, but he decided not to. He could control himself, for a while, anyway, even if it had been years since he'd needed to. 

Phil's fingers swept across the hollow of his throat to his collarbone, and along the top of his shoulder. They delved into his armpit, and then began a painstakingly slow journey up his right arm. Phil seemed to want to explore the contour of every muscle, note the location of every tiny scar, and follow every vein. Clint got used to the touches, and they started to become soothing. The slow progress was calming and Clint felt himself starting to sink into it, until Phil stroked a sensitive spot on the inside of his elbow and he moaned again. Phil's fingers stopped their journey and stroked the spot again and again, slowing more and more until each touch was exquisite torture. Clint's eyes were shut tight as he moaned. He felt Phil moving, shifting above him. The fingers disappeared and were replaced by... lips. Phil was softly kissing the spot with warm, dry lips. 

"God. Phil."

The spot was kissed one last time and then the fingers returned and resumed their journey up his arm to his wrist. They spent a long time tracing the collection of scars on Clint's forearm, and then stroked the skin on the inside of his wrist, before disappearing, and reappearing on his left wrist. 

Clint pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Phil’s fingers started the journey downwards, and now that Clint knew what to expect, he was able to finally let himself sink into the sensations. Phil's weight on his chest, solid and comforting. The heat of Phil's groin in the wool pants against his breastbone. The light touch of Phil's fingers on the skin of his arm, exploring and stroking. Clint let himself go and float on the most delicious touches he could ever remember receiving.

He felt fingertips brush his collarbones, delve into the hollow of his throat, skim the tops of his shoulders. He felt Phil shift his knees to move a few inches further down his body. He accepted the new pressure and warmth and sighed, feeling content. And then just barely stopped himself from bucking his hips as Phil brushed across his nipples and electric sparks shot through him. 

"Fuck. Fuck. Fucking hell, sir. God. Fucking hell." And then as Phil continued to brush and rub and started to gently squeeze, what came out of Clint's mouth was a long, drawn-out moan. 

"God. God. Phil. Fuck." He gripped the bars of the headboard with white-knuckled hands to keep himself from bucking, from letting his hips search for something to rub his aching dick against. And then Phil shifted lower again, and his butt snugged up against Clint's dick. Clint yelled.

"Shit. Fuck. Shit. Phil. Sir. I need. I need to come. I can't... Sir… I can't... I need to come. Fuck."

Phil took his fingers off Clint's nipples and stroked them down his sides with firm pressure instead.

"Try not to come, Clint."

"I don't know if I can help it, sir,” Clint gasped out. "It's been too long since I... I don't think I can, sir."

"Try. Try for me."

"Yes, sir."

Phil shifted again, slowly, dragging Clint's dick across the fabric of his pants as he dropped to his elbows and put his lips to the skin of Clint's stomach.

Clint's head swam. Phil was kissing his stomach. He was on his elbows and knees, straddling Clint's body. Clint’s dick was hard and hot against the soft fabric of Phil's shirt, and Phil was kissing his stomach. Clint took a long slow breath. He concentrated on breathing, and on the touch of Phil's soft, dry lips to the contours of his ab muscles. 

Phil had meant to only use his hands. He was afraid of going too far, too fast. He knew himself well enough to know how easy it would be to get lost in the overwhelming sensuality of Clint's body, so he'd told himself, when Clint was standing naked in front of him, 'Hands only, for tonight.' That had lasted about three minutes. When Clint had started to moan from the light brushes of his fingertips on a sensitive spot inside his elbow, Phil couldn't help himself. He had to touch his lips to the spot, kissing it gently, learning the texture of Clint's skin with his lips. 

The noises Clint had made while he rubbed and teased his nipples had been so wonderfully satisfying and arousing, that when he stroked the planes of the broad chest, he lost the battle with himself and moved so that he could explore Clint's stomach with his lips. Now he felt Clint’s abs flutter beneath him as Clint fought to hold himself still, and it drove Phil wild. It had been far too long since he'd had a Sub under him like this, and Clint was so responsive, moaning now at almost every touch. 

Phil shifted down further so that he could explore the sharp points of Clint's hip-bones. He laid a trail of soft kisses along one, and just managed to stop his tongue from snaking out to taste the little hollow of skin above the ridge of bone. In his mind's eye Phil saw the dark purple bruise that he would suck into the skin there, when Clint was his. Phil felt a spot of wetness on his shirt and realized it was from Clint's leaking dick where it was trapped at an awkward angle against Phil's chest. He hadn't expected Clint to be so aroused so easily. He'd somehow imagined that the hard, contained man he knew would be just as contained and controlled in bed, needing more than gentle touches to bring him to the edge. But Phil wasn't disappointed, on the contrary, the softness he was uncovering and being allowed to experience was as seductive as the expanse of warm, musky-scented skin under his lips. 

He wanted to be fair, and he wanted to see Clint come, to enjoy the sight of him in the throes of his orgasm, so Phil moved carefully, lifting his chest to allow Clint's dick to spring up against his stomach. Phil sat up and settled himself on his knees between Clint's ankles, going back to exploring with fingertips, starting first with one foot then the other, and moving up from ankle to knee and knee to thigh. When Clint's moans gave way to curses again, Phil stopped, and shifted once more.

With one knee on either side of Clint's hips, he settled directly over Clint's groin. His own stiff cock, still trapped inside underwear and suit pants, throbbed hot and hard against Clint's bare, leaking length. Beneath him, he felt Clint straining not to buck up, not to shift or rub, not to move. 

"You're doing very well, Clint. Very well. Open your eyes now. Look at me." 

Clint opened his eyes and looked at Phil, sitting above him. Clint felt enveloped by Phil's heat and... his... aura? Dom-ness? Something. Something was holding him, like a hug or a thick warm blanket. Clint felt safe, and wanted. As he watched, Phil started to unbutton his shirt, slowly, never taking his eyes off Clint's. Clint watched as the shirt opened, button-by-button. He'd seen Coulson in t-shirts and shorts working out at the gym, and in a tac-suit, and once shirtless, when Coulson had stripped it off to use as a makeshift bandage. He knew there was lean, hard muscle under the dress shirts and suits Coulson wore every day. Now he watched as the dark fuzz of chest hair was revealed. He stared at the small pink nipples, desperately wanting to put his lips to one and suck. Phil shifted to tug his shirt out of his pants and Clint nearly lost it. The hot friction moving against his aching dick was almost too much to bear.

"Sir... I can't... Fuck, I need... Please. I need..." 

Phil dropped his shirt off the side of the bed. He shifted again, purposefully this time, rocking his groin against Clint's.

"Can you come just from this?"

"Fuck, yeah. Fuck...." Clint drew a deep breath and forced himself to answer properly, "Yes, sir."

"Good. Look at me, Clint. I want to see you. I want to see you come." Phil kept up the slow steady rocking, the friction and pressure building Clint's orgasm maddeningly slowly.

"Fuck. God. Fuck. Sir, please, please I need... sir... please, sir." Phil increased the tempo of his rocking, grinding hips slightly, his eyes drinking in the sight of Clint unraveling beneath him. 

"You're so gorgeous. So responsive. Coming apart for me, so beautifully, Clint." Phil moved his hands to Clint's chest and brushed his fingertips across Clint's nipples.

"Come for me, Clint."

Clint yelled and fought not to buck under Coulson's weight as his balls tightened and the fire in his groin exploded through him as he came. He panted and moaned as Phil rocked against him once, twice more, milking his aching dick. He dragged his eyes back open to see Phil looking down at him, a small, satisfied smile on his face. 

"Good. Very good, Clint. You did very well."

"Thank you, sir," Clint gasped between lungfuls of air. Phil was stroking his hands down Clint's sides soothingly, and it made Clint feel warm and cared for as he got his breathing back under control. 

"I'm going to move now,” Phil told him, giving him a moment's warning. Clint nodded. Phil lifted his weight off Clint's groin and shuffled all the way up Clint's body until his knees were snug in Clint's armpits. Phil reached over to grab another pillow and stuffed it behind Clint’s head. Clint saw a wet patch of his own cum on Phil's pants, smelled his sex mixed with Phil's musk, felt the heat of Phil's groin on his face. Phil held onto the headboard with one hand to steady himself, and undid his belt with the other. Phil's eyes never left Clint's face as he unzipped and shoved his pants and underwear as far down as they would go, freeing a short, thick cock. When Clint saw the moisture glistening at the tip, it was all he could do to stop himself from raising his head to lick it off. Phil put his thumb on Clint's chin and pushed down.

"Open." Clint opened his mouth, and Phil put his thumb on Clint's tongue, holding it down as he pushed harder. "Wide." Clint stretched his jaw as widely as he could.

"Good. I'm going to fuck your mouth. Don't move." 

Phil's voice was rough and his eyes were blazing. He was holding onto the shreds of his self-control as he leaned slowly forward, feeding the head of his cock into Clint's mouth, and then shifting his weight and his grip on the headboard so that he could thrust with his hips to plunge into the hot wetness. Clint moaned around his dick and the sound drove Phil wild. He thrust, hard and fast, taking, fucking, dominating, satisfying his burning need in Clint's willing mouth. He was so close... he fisted his hand in Clint's hair, kneeling low over his face and thrusting with his hips. Holding hard, holding his Sub's head steady to fuck into his mouth. Clint moaned again. Phil shouted and came, spurting thick cum down Clint's throat. Clint swallowed convulsively and the hot tongue on Phil's cock drew him through the aftershocks, leaving him shaking. Phil sucked in a breath, holding himself up with one arm and weak knees, his hand still tight in Clint's hair. 

"Lick me clean," he said, voice rough. Clint's mouth worked eagerly to find the last drops and leave Phil's cock clean and wet and glistening. Phil pulled out reluctantly, and looked down into Clint's face, his hand still tight in Clint's hair. 

"You're gorgeous." Phil moved his hand, stroking Clint's cheek and forehead and the side of his face for a moment before moving away.

"Stay there. Don't move." Phil used his grip on the headboard to maneuver himself off Clint, sitting on the edge of the bed and sliding his pants and underwear off. "I'll be right back."

Clint didn't move. He was floating on a high from the best orgasm he'd had in months and being dominated and used so wonderfully by Phil. He could still taste Phil's cum in his mouth. He wanted more. He wanted Phil to use him, to hurt him, to fuck him, to pet him and stroke him and... he wanted Phil's collar. He wanted to be Phil's Sub. He hoped he'd done well. He hoped Phil was pleased with him. He didn't move. 

Phil padded naked to the bathroom on legs that were still slightly shaky from the force of his orgasm. He hadn't come like that in years. He hadn't come like that since... since Zack. No matter how hard he was trying not to become too emotionally invested in this potential relationship with Clint, he knew he was failing — he knew he was falling, fast and hard and deep, for a beautiful, broken, sensuous, loyal, honest Sub who was giving him everything, everything he could ask for and more. Phil sighed. He grabbed a washcloth and ran the water, cleaning himself up and then soaking the cloth in warm water again and wringing it out.

'Just don't rush. It's okay to want him, but if it's right, it'll still be right tomorrow, the next day, next week. Keep your head, and take it slow,' Phil sternly but silently told his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He left the light on and pulled the door closed, letting the light leak out from under the door as he turned off the rest of the lights in the apartment and headed back to the bedroom. He stopped at the side of the bed.

Clint hadn't moved. He was lying, eyes closed, breathing evenly, holding the bars of the headboard firmly. Phil climbed back onto the bed and Clint opened his eyes to look at him, but didn't turn his head. Phil started to wipe Clint's stomach with the warm washcloth.

"You may let go of the headboard now. Move your arms slowly, take as much time as you need." Phil looked up to see Clint flexing his fingers first, stretching his hands out before moving his arms. Phil turned his attention to Clint's groin, wiping gently around his balls and cleaning the creases of his thighs before wrapping his washcloth-covered hand around Clint's dick and squeezing just a little as he cleaned it. Clint whimpered. Phil looked up.

"Are your arms okay?"

"Yes sir, they're fine." Clint's voice was small, a hoarse whisper, and Phil realized it was the careful clean-up that was affecting him. He wondered what would happen when...

"Stay there a minute." Phil climbed off the bed and turned down the covers on one side. He retrieved one of the pillows that he'd moved earlier and set it at the head of the bed, and couldn't resist plumping it up.

"Okay, move over here," he said, patting the sheets.

"Sir?" Clint turned his head now, looking at Phil with wide-eyed confusion.

"Move over here.” Phil's voice deepened and hardened, and Clint moved, following the order and settling himself gingerly on the soft sheets. Phil drew the covers up over him, then crossed the room to turn out the light. He climbed in on the other side and plumped his own pillow, settling comfortably on his back in the middle of the big bed. Then he reached over and took Clint's arm.

"Come here."

Clint resisted for a second, but a more insistent tug got him moving. Phil pulled and poked and prodded Clint into position, settling Clint's head on his shoulder and wrapping both arms around him. Phil shifted his hips and hooked an ankle over one of Clint's legs to pull it snugly next to his own. 

"You may touch me, Clint, however you want to."

For a long minute, Clint didn't move. Then he wrapped one arm around Phil's chest, holding tight, and buried his face in Phil's shoulder. Phil stroked his back, intuitively knowing that Clint was fighting tears. He'd had so little caring in his life. So little gentleness, so few loving touches, that what Phil considered the most basic of aftercare was overwhelming to him. 

"It's okay, Clint. You're okay. You did well. You did very, very well." Phil tightened his arms and Clint snuggled into the embrace. Phil rubbed his back some more. "Go to sleep, now." 

Clint's head came up.

"Sir?"

"What is it, Clint? Won't you be able to sleep?"

"Like this, sir?"

"Yes. I like sleeping with a warm body, and it's been far too long. Is that a problem?"

"I... no sir, no... I... thank you, sir. For everything."

"You're welcome, Clint. Now go to sleep."

"Yes, sir." It was an order that Clint had no intention of following. He didn't want to miss one single second of being wrapped up in Phil's arms, snug and warm and content in his bed, being held and cuddled. Clint made himself relax and breathe evenly, memorizing the feel of Phil's legs against his, the smell of Phil's skin and sweat in his nose, the slight tickle of Phil's chest-hair under his arm. He listened to the rhythm of Phil's breathing and felt the thump of his heartbeat. Clint held on tightly to all these things, drinking them in, wanting to imprint them on his mind and his body so that he'd always have them. No matter what else happened, if he could always remember every single detail of this perfect moment, he'd be content. Sleeping alone in his narrow bunk in his quarters at SHIELD, he would be able to wrap himself in the memory of this night with Phil. 

Phil, who had pushed him hard, who had touched him softly, who had used him roughly, and who was holding him gently. Phil who was letting him sleep cuddled close in his big soft bed. 

"Thank you," Clint whispered silently again and again into Phil's shoulder, lips barely moving so as not to disturb Phil's sleep, "Thank you for this, sir." 

But Subbing for the first time in five years had worn him out, and the warmth and softness and safety of Phil's arms eventually lulled him to sleep.

~~~~~~

Phil woke with his nose in Clint's hair and lay still for a moment, luxuriating in the wonderful feeling of waking with a warm body in his arms. They’d shifted in the night, and Clint was curled in a ball on his side with Phil spooned around his back, one arm around his chest, still holding him close. He felt Clint tense slightly as he woke up and then go perfectly still in his arms. Phil tightened his grip for a second, then released it and kissed the top of Clint's shoulder lightly.

"Stay here for another ten minutes while I grab a shower. Then you can have your turn in the bathroom. We'll debrief after breakfast." Phil reluctantly climbed out of bed and headed for the shower. 

Half an hour later, both of them had showered and shaved and dressed and were sitting at Phil's table. He’d made coffee and breakfast while Clint was in the bathroom, putting two boxes of cereal and a bowl, a plate with a toasted bagel on it, and jars of peanut butter and jelly on the table in front of Clint.

"Sit. Eat,” he had ordered when Clint had come tentatively into the room. Clint sat and ate. He accepted a second cup of coffee from Phil who was munching on his own bagel, and slurped the last of the milk out of his cereal bowl.

"Go sit on the sofa while I put these things away." Phil rehearsed his opening lines in his head while he cleared the breakfast table. He poured himself more coffee and looked at his watch. They had plenty of time to talk before they needed to leave for work. 

Phil joined Clint on the sofa, put his coffee cup on the table, and asked,

"How do you feel about last night, Clint?"

"I... uh... I'm not sure what you mean, sir? Could you maybe ask me a more specific question?"

"I will ask you all sorts of specific questions, but first I want to know, how do you feel about what happened last night?"

"I... I loved it, sir. I... It was one of the best nights of my life."

"I'm glad," Phil said softly with a smile, and hoped he was keeping the sadness he felt out of his voice. He cleared his throat.

"Tell me what part you liked least."

"Uh... I... begging to come. Not because I mind begging, I don't, I just... you didn't say if I was allowed to come, so I didn't know, at first, and I wasn't sure if I should ask, and then I didn't know if you'd want me to beg or not... I didn't like not knowing what you wanted." 

"Yes. That was my fault. I should have been more clear, I should have told you exactly what I wanted from you. I'm sorry, it's been a while since I've scened like this, and I'm a little out of practice. For future reference, you may always ask for something you want. Always. I'll never punish you for asking."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome. What did you like best?"

"I... I loved everything sir, really I did,” Clint said, his voice earnest.

"I believe you Clint, but I want you to tell me what you liked best." 

Clint’s ears went pink and he tried not to mumble as he said,

"Sleeping with you, sir."

"I liked that too. I liked it a lot. My turn: what I liked least was when I realized that I hadn't spoken to you properly about being able to safeword out of the scene until I already had you naked in my bed. That was irresponsible of me.” Phil shook his head slightly, obviously displeased with himself. 

“Like I said, I'm out of practice. As for what I liked best... Clint, there were many things I loved about what we did together last night. I loved how hard you worked when I pushed you to answer my questions. I loved how you looked stretched out naked on my bed. I loved how well you held still for me. I loved seeing you come, and I loved fucking your mouth. But what I liked best was touching you. Touching your skin, and feeling you respond to my touches." Phil’s voice was as gentle as his touch had been, and Clint found himself swallowing around a lump in his throat. 

"I... I loved that too, sir."

"Good. I'm glad. So, I guess we need to discuss where we go from here. Would you say things went well last night?

"Yes, sir. Absolutely. I... I think they went very well." Clint bobbed his head in a rapid nod.

"I agree. But I'm not ready to offer you a collar yet. I feel… there are some more things I want to find out about you, and there are some things that you deserve to know about me before we make any big decisions. I'd like to spend the night with you again. Tonight, if you're okay with that, but we can put it off for a day or a few days if you want to take some time - "

"No sir, tonight is fine. Tonight is great, I..." Clint rushed to say, and then dropped his eyes.

"What is it, Clint?"

"I just, last night was so good, sir. So much better than I'd imagined... I want this so much, sir. I want to be yours."

Phil wanted to stroke his hair. To hug him. To order him to his knees and tie a piece of string around his neck and fuck him on the living room floor. He took a steadying breath.

"I want that too, Clint, but I need to be sure we're right for each other, and that we're making a good decision here."

"Yes, sir. I understand." Clint didn't, not really, but he understood that that was the way Phil wanted it to happen, and he ddn't have any choice except to go along with it.

"Good. Come on, then, we need to get to the office."


	3. Chapter 3

Phil Coulson was good at concentrating. He was good at focusing on the task at hand. He was good at pushing things out of his mind to deal with later. That said, it was a damn good thing that he had meetings scheduled for most of the day, to help distract himself from thinking too much about last night… and his plans for tonight.

Most of the meetings were to continue the investigation into Jensen's behavior towards uncollared Subs. He spent the morning talking to two Subs. The first vehemently denied Jensen ever acting anything but entirely correctly and professionally — denied far too vehemently, as far as Phil Coulson was concerned. The second Sub described Jensen as 'short-tempered and a little rough sometimes,' and could remember three separate instances of Jensen hitting him for minor infractions. 

"Does he order you to your knees?" Phil asked.

"Sure, all the time. He's the kind of Dom who likes to see Subs on their knees, just because he can."

"SHIELD regulations very clearly say that you don't have to go to your knees for anyone except your immediate superior or your own Dominant."

"I know, but I just do it; it's easier that way." Phil sighed. Jensen's way of doing things used to be the norm in society, fifty years ago. Phil had thought things were better than that at SHIELD; he'd worked with Fury to make sure that their employment policies and regulations made it as easy and safe as possible for Subs, especially uncollared ones. He didn't like finding out the extent to which their policies had failed — that Subs were still finding it 'easier' to go down for a bully like Jensen, rather than go through channels to deal with him properly. Phil was re-writing the sexual harassment section of the employee training manual in his head as he packed up his desk at lunch time. 

In an effort not to spend the day distracted by thoughts of what he'd be doing with Barton tonight (along with calling him 'Barton' in his head while he was at work), Phil had decided to go home at lunchtime and do some preparation for the evening. It gave him the walk back and forth to his apartment to think and plan. He didn't want to make any more mistakes like the ones he'd made last night, not letting Clint (he was out of the office, walking along 3rd Avenue, so ‘Clint’ was allowed) know exactly what was expected of him. 

When he set foot in his bedroom, the smell of sweat and sex was still lingering in the air. Phil stopped, closed his eyes, and just breathed it in for a moment. Now he let himself remember Clint lying stretched out on his bed, holding himself perfectly still. He let himself remember Clint's moans and cries as he came. He let himself remember plunging wildly into the hot wetness of Clint's mouth. He let himself remember waking up curled around Clint's warm body. He sighed, opened his eyes, and set about changing the sheets. 

Making up the bed with clean sheets and crisp hospital corners grounded him. He was able to think more clearly about what he needed to talk to Clint about tonight, and what he wanted to do with him. What he wanted to do meant he needed to check his tools and toys. 

In the months after Zach died, Phil hadn't touched anything in the cabinet. Then he'd gone through everything, deciding what he could keep and what held too many emotional memories for him to ever be able to use with anyone else. He'd wrapped their favorite riding crop in a silk scarf and tucked it into the back of the drawer, keeping that one thing for sentiment. He'd thrown out some of the other toys, and replaced the ones he thought he would want again in the future. Throughout the next couple of years, he'd opened the cabinet regularly, oiling the leather cuffs and making sure that whips and floggers and paddles were in good condition. He was very aware that it had been six months or more since he'd even opened the cabinet, that unconsciously he'd almost given up on ever having another Sub of his own.

Now he went through everything quickly but carefully, checking his tools for soundness and safety, and setting the things he wanted to use tonight on a low shelf. He looked longingly at the large collection of thick leather cuffs, straps, and bindings. The leather hadn't been oiled recently, but he'd taken such good care of these things over many years that they were still soft and flexible and in good condition. 

'Not tonight. Not yet. It's too soon,' he thought as he slid the drawer closed. He remembered what Clint had said: 'I don't like being tied up and left alone.' Phil was very concerned that Clint's negative experiences with bondage would be an issue. 'If he trusts me enough. If he's comfortable enough... then maybe... But first things first. Take it slowly.' 

Phil closed the cabinet and checked his watch. He locked up the apartment and spent the walk back to the office planning that night's scene in his head.

~~~~~~

When he stepped out of his office at six that evening, Barton was waiting for him, leaning against the wall near his admin's desk with his rucksack at his feet. Clint shot him a brilliant smile, and Phil gave him a small smile in return. Phil checked a detail of his schedule with the admin, and then jerked his head for Clint to follow.

This time, as they walked, Phil bounced his ideas for the re-write of the sexual harassment manual off Clint. He talked about how to make it clearer that the grievance procedures were anonymous and that there would be no professional repercussions for Subs who made a complaint, even if the actual complaint was later dismissed. He suggested an ombudsperson that Subs could meet with, someone entirely outside the chain of command who reported directly to Fury.

"What do you think?"

"That all sounds really good, sir."

"But?" Phil asked, picking up on the lack of enthusiasm in Clint’s voice.

"Um..."

"Talk to me Barton. Tell me what you honestly think."

"Well, maybe instead of trying to make it easier for Subs to report prohibited behavior, you could ah... maybe, ah... tell the Doms not to behave like that?" 

"But the regulations are perfectly clear, and everyone goes through mandatory training on them." Phil sounded frustrated; he knew the regulations weren’t always followed, but didn’t know what else to do about it.

"Sure. But right before Jensen hit me, he said, 'I don't care what the regs say,' and he didn't, because he didn't believe he was wrong to order me to my knees. He thought it was his right as a Dom, and he knew most Subs would just put up with it rather than report him. Encouraging Subs to make reports is great, but getting Doms to not abuse their position in the first place would be better, wouldn't it?" Clint glanced at Phil, worried that he’d over-stepped.

"Yes. Yes, Clint. It would." Phil was quiet and thoughtful until they got to the Mexican take-out place two blocks from his apartment.

They ate at Phil's table, off plates again, chatting a little about work and current events while they did. Clint nearly spat out a mouthful of burrito when Phil asked casually,

"Who have you been having sex with?"

"Sir?" Clint's voice squeaked as he cleared his throat and then picked up his soda to wash the mouthful down.

"You said you hadn't been with a Dom since you joined SHIELD, and I assume you haven't been celibate, so who have you been having sex with? I don't need names, I just want to know what you've been getting for the past few years."

"Um, well sir, I had a kind of informal thing with Specialist Celso for ah... almost two years."

"Celso, in Weapons Technologies? He's a Neutral."

"Yes, sir, but he likes it rough, so we got along pretty well."

"What kind of rough?"

"He'd, ah, slap me around, and fuck me hard with minimal prep."

"You liked that?"

"It was... better than nothing." Clint fought his instinct to mumble at his plate, and kept his head up and his eyes on Phil. 

"What happened?"

“He got serious about Agent Bernat about eight months ago, so we stopped, ah... seeing each other."

"And since then?"

Clint held up his right hand and waggled his fingers.

"I see. Is there anything you want to ask me, Clint?"

"No, sir."

"You're not curious about who I've been having sex with?"

"None of my business, sir."

"I asked you a question, Clint."

"Yes, sir, I'm curious." Clint’s face went a little pink at the admission.

"I go to clubs. Very discreet, upscale clubs. If I meet someone I want to play with, I use the club rooms. I've never met anyone I've liked enough to bring here, or to see twice. Are you finished eating?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go wait for me on the sofa."

"Yes, sir."

Phil quickly cleared the dishes, then stood in the kitchen for a moment, getting himself into the right headspace for a scene. Tonight was going to be more involved, more physical, more... dangerous than last night, and he wanted to do it right. To give Clint what he needed, what he hadn't had with Specialist Celso: to be properly dominated by someone who knew him and understood him and cared about him. He also wanted—no, he needed—to find out if he would be able to get the things he craved from Clint.

Phil went into the living room, pushed the coffee table out of the way and then sat on the other end of the sofa.

"Last night you said that you like being naked, and that you like being on your knees for me, so I think I'll have you do that. Strip, put your clothes on the sofa, and kneel here in front of me."

Phil watched as Clint stripped down quickly and knelt. He put his hands behind his back without being told, but then looked up at Phil for confirmation. Phil gave him a small nod. 

"Closer." Phil spread his knees, and motioned Clint to move in between them. He stroked the side of Clint's face with gentle fingertips, then carded his hand through Clint's hair. 

"Last night we talked about you — about what you like and don't like. Tonight we'll talk some about me. About what I like, and what I want, and some of the things I'll expect from you." Phil's hand slid through Clint's hair again, and then gripped, firmly.

"The most important thing you need to know about me is that I am jealous and very possessive. If you choose to take my collar, you become mine and no one else's. There will never be a third person, Dom, Sub, or Neutral, in our bedroom. I will never give or lend you to another Dom." Phil's other hand came up and started to stroke the side of Clint's neck, the skin of his shoulder, his arm, his chest.

"You will not play with anyone else, Sub or Neutral. The surest way to make me very, very angry with you is to let another Dom touch you when you could have avoided it. No one touches you once you're mine. Training and missions excepted, of course. You can shake hands socially, high-five someone in the dining hall, get a pat on the back for a job well done. I'm not irrational. Just extremely possessive. If you are mine, touch comes from me and only me. This," Phil ran both his hands, fingers splayed wide, down Clint's chest and stomach. "This is mine, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is that acceptable to you?"

"Yes, sir. Yes please, sir." Clint loved the idea of Phil being jealous and possessive of him; wanting Clint all for himself. 

"When I saw Jensen hit you in the corridor, I wanted to break his fingers, then his arm, and then his face. I still want to. I still might."

Phil continued stroking Clint's skin, letting his fingers roam almost unconsciously across his chest and stomach, and then drift lower. One of his warm, dry hands cupped Clint's dick.

"This would also become mine. You may touch it to piss and to wash, but not for pleasure. Pleasure comes from me. You don't jerk off. I decide when you get to come. I'm not cruel. If we're on a long mission, or apart for a length of time because of work, I'll make an exception. The rules of that will be clear, I promise. But under normal circumstances, this is mine to use as I choose to. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Yes sir, yes please, sir." Clint couldn’t suppress the shiver of anticipation that ran through his body, and he could feel his dick filling and hardening in Phil’s hand. Phil didn’t seem to mind either reaction, because he smiled.

"Good. Last night you said you liked pain, you liked floggers and whips. How do you feel about marks?"

"Whip marks, sir? Fine."

"What about other marks? Scratches and bruises and bite marks?"

"Fine, sir. I... I don't have any problem with them." Clint didn’t really understand the question. Hitting left marks, of course it did. And if Phil wanted to bite him, well, that sounded pretty hot, actually.

Phil had been hoping for a more positive response than 'fine,' and something must have shown on his face, because Clint asked in a small voice,

"Sir?"

Phil slid one hand back into Clint's hair, gripping firmly, reassuring him.

"I like whips and floggers too. And canes and crops and paddles. I like them a lot. What I like most about them is the marks they make on skin. I like leaving marks. If you take my collar, you'll have my marks on you most of the time. Marks from my whips, my hands, and my teeth." Phil's other hand was roaming across Clint's skin, pausing at every sensitive spot he'd catalogued the night before and stroking the skin there, drawing small noises out of Clint, making it perfectly clear where he would be putting his marks.

Clint moaned as Phil touched a sensitive spot on his neck, imagining Phil's teeth there, gripping hard, biting him, marking him, owning him. 

"Yes sir," he whispered in what had become a mantra, "yes please, sir."

Phil's fingers stayed on his neck, lightly touching a couple of inches below his ear. 

"I'll want to mark you where people can see, Clint. So that everyone knows you're mine."

"I... yes please, sir. I'd..." Clint gasped as Phil scraped the spot lightly with his fingernails, “I’d love that. I’d be proud to wear your marks for everyone to see, sir."

"Good. I'm glad." Phil's hand dropped to Clint's shoulder and squeezed.

"Do you have any questions?"

Clint tried to think, but his brain was fogged with lust and need and want. The images that Phil had painted with his words: that he would belong to Phil; that Phil would be possessive of him, wanting Clint all for himself; that Phil would mark him for everyone to see, see that he was owned and wanted by Phil Coulson... it was almost more than Clint could believe. He tried to think of something to ask, something he should know about what Phil wanted from him, or about how things would be between them. But the only questions he had were little things, things that he didn't dare bother Phil with like: 'Will you let me sleep with you again?' and 'May I sit in your office at your feet while you're working, sometimes, if it wouldn't disturb you?'

"I... I can't think of anything right now, sir," he said.

"If you think of something, you may ask it tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Good. Stay here for a few minutes while I get some things ready."

Clint tried to breathe evenly while Phil moved around the apartment. Clint didn't follow him with his eyes. He hadn't been told not to, but something made him think that Phil would prefer it if he didn't. He heard Phil go into the kitchen and open the fridge, and then cross to the bedroom. Clint kept his eyes forward, on the sofa cushions. He wondered what Phil would ask of him tonight. He was already rock hard, from Phil's touches and his words. He was ready to submit to anything Phil wanted from him. He wanted Phil to use him — use him hard, push him hard. He wanted the chance to show Phil that he would take anything, do anything Phil wanted or needed. 'You'll have my marks on you most of the time. Marks from my whips, my hands, and my teeth.' Clint wanted those marks, now. Wanted them desperately. 

Phil came back into the living room and stood beside him.

"Do you need to use the washroom?"

"No, sir."

“Get up and follow me."

Clint followed Phil into the bedroom. It looked the same as it had last night, except for the things laid out on the bed next to a couple of towels. Clint fought the urge to say, 'Thank you, sir' as he looked at the array: whips, floggers, a crop, paddles, a cane… 

"I'm going to hurt you tonight, Clint."

"Yes please, sir," Clint said, his eyes still riveted to the tools on the bed. It had been so long... so long since he'd been worked over by a proper whip or flogger. So very long since the pain he craved had come easily and smoothly, building gradually at the hands of someone who handled their tools well. And Clint knew Phil would be good. Phil was good with everything—guns and knives and his fists—Phil would be good with a whip or a flogger or a cane...

"Clint," Phil's voice was sharp, and Clint realized it was the second time he'd been spoken to.

"Sorry, sir. Sorry."

"Looking forward to this part, are you?"

"Yes, sir, very much sir. It's been a long time..."

"A long time since what, Clint?"

"A long time since I've been whipped well, sir,” Clint said with a hint of his usual cocky grin.

"I see. So as not to repeat our mistakes from yesterday, are you likely to come just from being hit?"

"No sir, not usually. Usually I'm so focused on the pain that I'm not thinking very much about my dick."

"What if I touch you between sets?"

"Ah, I guess it depends where you're touching me, sir."

"I'll touch you where you've been hit. I'll also touch your nipples and your dick and your balls."

"I should be okay sir, unless you start stroking my dick."

"Good. You're not to come without permission. If you feel like you're going to come and you can't avoid it, tell me, right away."

"Yes sir. I will sir."

"Good. Like last night, calling safeword isn't a failure. We're going to be playing hard, and I don't know what your tolerances are.”

"They're pretty high, sir."

"That's good, because I plan to hit you pretty hard. I need you to promise me that you'll call safeword if you need to, Clint."

"I will sir, I promise."

"Good. I also want you to use 'yellow' if you need me to slow down or if you just need a break. There's no problem with that at all — I want this to be good for you, Clint. And I want us both to enjoy it. I need you to help me make that happen."

"Yes sir, I'll try."

"I'd like you to please arrange these items in order, from what you like least to what you like most. You may touch them or pick them up to help you decide."

Clint spent a moment just looking, and processing Phil's instructions. Then he picked up the wooden paddle and put it at the far end of the row.

"Is that the 'like least' end or the 'like most' end?" Phil asked quietly.

"Least," said Clint, putting a leather paddle next to it, and a leather truncheon next to that.

"Why?"

"I got worked over with a baseball bat once,” Clint said, glancing briefly at Phil and then quickly back down. “It sucked. Since then I don't like being hit with wood so much."

Phil picked up the wooden paddle and went over to his cabinet. He opened the bottom drawer, dropped the paddle in and closed it. Clint watched.

"I don't want to do anything that you're going to hate, Clint. Ever."

Clint stared at him for a minute, still not really believing that what he wanted and didn’t want, what he liked and didn’t like, counted for so much with Phil. Surely everything that happened was Phil's choice, not his. What Phil wanted, what would make Phil happy, was what was important...

"I can't enjoy myself if you're hating it, Clint," Phil said softly, answering the un-asked question. Clint nodded. That made sense. If Phil really cared about him, the way he cared about Phil and wanted to make Phil happy, well, okay, he could see how it wouldn't be fun for Phil if Clint hated what was happening to him.

Clint picked up the larger of two floggers and drew the tails through his hand. They were wide and thick and rounded at the ends. He put the flogger down at the other end of the row. Next to it went a bamboo cane, then a heavy, single-tailed whip. In the middle he put a riding crop, a cat-o-nine-tails, the smaller, lighter flogger, and leather slapper.

"What do you like about the heavy flogger?"

"The way it thuds across my whole back. The way the pain gets deep into my muscles instead of just sitting on the surface of the skin."

Phil nodded, "And the cane?"

"How much it hurts."

"And what don't you like about the paddle?"

"Takes too long to really feel much of anything on my butt."

"Okay." Phil picked up the bottom three items and moved them to the top of the bureau, leaving six items on the bed. 

"No guarantee I'll use all of them on you tonight, we'll see how it goes."

"Yes, sir."

“Stand over here, facing the bed, and grip the top of the rail. Feet a little further back. Good." Phil positioned Clint at the footboard of the bed so that he was leaning forward a little, giving Phil good access to his back, butt, and the backs of his thighs. 

"If you let go of the rail, I'll treat it the same as you having called safeword, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"You may make as much noise as you want to, or need to." Phil picked up the lighter flogger from the row of tools. "This is just warm up, just to get the blood moving under your skin. Ready?"

"Yes, sir."

Phil stepped back and started swinging the flogger. At first the blows were light, just stinging a little. Clint rolled his shoulders between blows, and settled his weight more comfortably on the soft carpeted floor of Phil's bedroom. He dropped his chin and closed his eyes. Phil started to swing the flogger harder, moving from his shoulders down to the middle of his back. The blows stopped for a moment, and then started up again on his butt and the backs of his thighs. It was good. It was light, and not anywhere near as much as he needed, but he could feel how carefully Phil was covering his skin with blows, never too long in one place, spreading over the entire surface evenly, making his skin tingle. 

Phil stopped again briefly and moved back up to Clint’s shoulders, hitting harder, the tails of the flogger biting a little now. It felt good. Not enough to be really satisfying, but a nice start. Clint wasn't used to being "warmed up" as Phil called it. He was used to someone just picking up a whip or a cane or a paddle and whaling on him. The pain would explode and within a few blows he'd be floating on a sea of endorphins. It felt strange, still being in his head as the blows continued, sharp now, on the thick muscles of his upper back. He thought about the other things on the bed, the whip and the cane and the heavy flogger. He was pretty sure Phil would at least use the heavy flogger on him, and he was looking forward to that. To the heavy deep thud that would sink through his muscles and feel so satisfying.

Phil stopped hitting him and moved up behind him. He felt Phil's hands, cool against the hot skin on his back.

"How are you doing?" Phil asked as he stroked his hands down Clint's back. Phil was pressing hard enough that it hurt, but it still felt soothing to Clint, for whom any touch at all was a balm.

"Good, sir."

"Ready for something else?"

"Yes please, sir."

"Okay." Phil moved away and Clint opened his eyes, wanting to see what Phil picked up off the bed. It was the riding crop. He shoved down the small stab of disappointment. He was grateful for whatever Phil wanted to give him. Grateful for anything at all.

There was a quiet swish and a 'crack' and he felt a stripe of pain across his butt. Phil had laid a solid blow across both cheeks.

"That okay?"

"Yes, sir. It's good, sir." Clint wasn't used to being asked so many questions, but he figured it was because it was their first time doing this together, and Phil was a bit of a perfectionist. Phil would want to get it right, to learn exactly what Clint liked. That was Phil's style. Phil's style, apparently, was also to lay another half-dozen precisely aligned blows in sequence along the curve of Clint's ass. There was a slight pause, then another four blows, the last of which lay a couple of inches above the top of his thighs. Another pause. More stripes of pain, on the back of his right thigh now, each blow carefully just below the last.

The pain was beginning to seep in properly now, and Clint was starting to be able to sink into it. It wasn't much, yet, but it was enough for him to at least start to let go, start to let his mind drift away from thinking and towards... the wonderful warm deep white nothingness he sometimes experienced when he was being hurt like this. He felt Phil start on his other thigh, and hummed a little as the pain built.

Phil was expecting a yelp, not a hum. He was hitting hard. As hard as he... not dared. He could hit harder if he wanted to, certainly, but he was walking a fine line. Clint deserved to be functional tomorrow at work. They hadn't discussed anything else, so as far as Phil was concerned, that was just common courtesy. So he wasn't about to do anything that would make it difficult for Clint to perform his regular work-out, practice at the range, or sit in a chair for an hour-long meeting. 

The increasingly obvious problem was that it wasn't anywhere near enough for Clint. Phil was good at reading people's reactions to pain. One of the reasons he still went to clubs regularly (apart from his own sexual satisfaction, obviously) was to keep in practice with his favorite tools, and using them well on Subs. So he was good at reading people's responses, and he could tell that what he was giving Clint wasn't anywhere near his limits. Wasn't really even enough to give him a good buzz. He finished up on Clint's left thigh with the riding crop and put it down on the bed.

"I know I'm not anywhere near your limits yet, Clint," Phil said, as he unbuttoned his shirt and stripped it off. He was going to be getting more of a workout this evening than he had anticipated. "I'm working up slowly while we get used to each other."

"Yes, sir," Clint said. Phil bit back a sigh. He wanted to make this good for Clint, wanted to give him what he needed, but he didn't want to risk making him unfit for duty. Phil considered the rest of the implements on the bed, and then had a thought. He crossed over to his cabinet and opened a drawer. He found the item he wanted: a set of adjustable barrel-style nipple clamps with a heavy chain. He stepped up close behind Clint, pressing his chest against Clint's back and his groin against Clint's sensitive ass. Clint groaned a little at the rub of the wool pants on his tender skin. 

Phil rubbed his fingers across Clint's nipples, teasing them erect. He pinched one and then the other, hard, making Clint moan. Working by feel, he attached one clamp and tightened it until Clint gasped, then did the same with the other. 

"Okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Phil gave a light tug on the heavy chain between the clamps. Clint groaned.

"Thank you, sir."

"Right, let's do some work with the heavy flogger now."

"Yes please, sir." 

Phil picked up the heavy flogger and started swinging. Lightly at first, but increasing the force of his blows quickly until he was hitting about half as hard as he could. Very soon, Clint's entire back was bright pink, ideal for laying down some harder blows. Phil didn't ask Clint if he was ready. This wasn't some polite, codified exchange between strangers in a club. This was his potential Sub, his potential long-term partner. The man he wanted to be hitting and fucking and sleeping with for... well for as long as possible. This was the man he wanted to make his own. 

Phil swung the flogger hard. Clint flinched for the first time since they’d started. Phil didn't pause, but laid a second, equally hard blow a little lower. Clint didn't flinch this time, but let out a low moan. Phil laid two more blows, painting dark red stripes down one side of Clint's back from his shoulder blade to the bottom of his ribcage. He paused just long enough for Clint to take a breath, and then started on the other side hitting just as hard. By the time he'd made a symmetrical set of lines across the other side of Clint's back, Clint was gasping for breath between blows and grunting as each one fell. 

Phil put the flogger down. He stepped up to Clint's back and laid his hands on the red marks, feeling the heat coming off them and running his fingertips lightly along and across the slightly raised ridges.

"How are you doing, Clint?" Phil asked as he touched the marks.

"Good, sir. Great. More, please?"

"In a minute." Phil ran his hands down Clint's back to his hips and then around to his groin, briefly fondling a half-hard dick before trailing up to the chain that joined his clamped nipples. Phil gave it a slight tug, and Clint swore. Phil rubbed his fingertips across the skin of one compressed nub and Clint gasped. Phil tightened the clamp another notch and Clint hissed through his teeth, then went rigid as Phil moved his hand across to give the same treatment to the other nipple. 

"Too much?"

"No sir. Please sir, do it." Phil did, rubbing the nipple and then tightening the clamp. Phil kissed the back of Clint's neck, wanting to do so much more. He contented himself with pressing up against Clint’s back again, rocking his hard dick, still confined in suit pants, against Clint’s reddened ass. He couldn’t wait to fuck Clint like this, to stripe his ass red and then bury himself deep. He let his hands roam across Clint’s chest, tweaking the clamped nipples occasionally to hear and feel Clint moan and shiver in his arms. 

"You're doing very well, Clint. Very well,” he murmured, kissing the back of his neck again. 

"Thank you, sir."

Phil took a step back so that he could see the lines on Clint's back. They weren't deep marks, he hadn't been hitting anywhere near as hard as he could, but he was very conscious that Clint needed these muscles to draw his bow. He didn't dare go any harder until he knew more about Clint's capacity. Maybe tomorrow he'd watch Clint practice. It would reassure him to see with his own eyes what the effects of the flogging were on Clint's performance. Phil ran his fingertips over the marks again, and then curled them in and raked blunt nails down Clint's back, scraping across the tender skin. Clint howled and swore.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" 

"Ready for more?"

"Yes sir, please sir,” Clint gasped, tightening his grip on the top rail of the bed's footboard, and shifting his hips a little.

Phil went back to the riding crop and back to Clint's butt. Like he had done earlier, he laid a series of parallel lines along the contours of the tight glutes, leaving a row of pink stripes. He did it quickly and precisely, not leaving time for Clint to breathe between blows, and melding the individual strikes into a sheet of sharp ache. He dropped the crop on the bed and picked up the cane. Even a fairly light blow with a cane could be vicious, and on Clint's already tender ass, Phil knew, the effect would be substantial. But Clint had put the cane into 'second favorite' position, and said he liked it specifically because of how much it hurt, so Phil was going to oblige him. Besides, Phil was much happier beating on Clint's ass than his back. If he needed to stand up rather than sit for a meeting tomorrow, so be it.

Phil settled his stance firmly, took careful aim, and swung. The cane whistled through the air and landed with a sharp crack. Clint moaned.

"Okay, Clint?"

"Yes, sir. More please sir."

Clint was floating. Phil had shocked him by tightening the nipple clamps and then scraping fingernails down his back, but it had made the endorphins kick in, and now everything was wonderful. The line of white hot fire across his butt seared through him, clean and clear and glorious. He felt the ache in his back and the fire on his ass and everything was right with the world, if Phil would just keep on hitting him. 

"Okay, two more,” Phil said, and Clint answered,

"Thank you, sir.” Two more would be wonderful. Two more would be fantastic, two more - ‘Crack'. He heard himself yell, and groan, but he was floating high on white fluffy clouds where the searing pain was the best thing ever. He heard the swish and felt the second blow land and this time he sighed. His eyes were open, he knew, because he saw Phil toss the cane down on the bed. He felt Phil press up behind him again, and it felt wonderful. Phil's cool skin against his back, Phil's strong hands stroking up and down his chest to his belly and fondling his cock and balls.

"That feels really nice," Clint said, having reached the point of saying whatever was in his head.

"Good. How are you doing?"

"Great sir, wonderful. More please?" More would be awesome. 

Phil was torn. He knew Clint was floating, high on endorphins, but he still seemed to be doing very well. His voice was clear, his grip on the rail was firm, and his legs were still solid beneath him. Phil ran his hands up and down Clint's chest again, then he stepped back to look at the marks he had made with the flogger. He ran his fingers over them lightly. They were gorgeous. The broad planes of Clint’s back were a perfect canvas for them, and Phil couldn't deny to himself that he was already imagining Clint’s skin covered in deep purple welts...

"Please, sir," Clint said, as Phil ran his fingers lightly over the marks again and again, "You haven't used your whip on me yet."

Phil looked at the whip sitting, still carefully coiled on the bed. It was his favorite tool. Not too long, but thick. Not a showy whip, it didn't make a scary cracking sound, it just hit. Hard, and precisely, leaving lovely wide welts without breaking the skin, if he was careful. And Phil was always careful. He wanted to whip Clint. He wanted to feel the satisfying thud of contact, see Clint's body flinch or jerk in response, hear the moan or shout that the blow would draw from his mouth, and see the gorgeous mark it would paint on his back. 

'Just two,' Phil thought, picking up the whip, 'and not too hard. He's been whipped before. He knows what he's asking for. He's enjoying this.' The justifications ran through Phil's mind as he dragged the supple leather through his hand, warming and flexing it. 'Just two,' he told himself again firmly.

"Keep your head down, Clint," Phil said, and Clint tucked his head low between his shoulders.

"Ready?" This time, Phil had to ask.

"Yes, sir."

Phil planted his feet, took careful aim, and struck. The whip hit Clint's back with a satisfying 'thwack'. Clint flinched, his whole body tensing in response to the blow, and then the pain hit and he howled.

Clint forced his knees to hold him up. He gripped the rail of the footboard so tightly his knuckles ached. He dragged in great gulping lungfuls of air as the burn from the blow settled along the left side of his back in a long line parallel to his spine. 

"Fuck, that's good," he said when he could speak. It was better than good. It was fantastic. He waited, heard Phil shift slightly behind him, and tried to relax for the next blow. It was even better. This time he just sighed out a long loud vowel sound before dragging in enough air to beg for more.

"Please sir, it's so good and it's been so long, please sir, hit me again."

"Clint," said Phil, and Clint could hear the refusal in his voice. But he was fine! He wanted more, needed more, it had been so long since he'd had anything this good, please sir, please give me more...

Phil didn't want to give in to Clint's begging, knew he shouldn't. Knew he had to tread carefully, slowly, responsibly. He looked at the long red stripes on Clint's back, perfectly symmetrical, bisecting the marks he'd made earlier with the flogger. Clint was still babbling, begging for more. Phil put the whip down and placed his hands on Clint's back, rubbing lightly over the new marks, feeling the heat of them and running his fingers along the raised ridges. Clint moaned, and then went back to begging.

"Shhh, Clint." Phil put his hands on Clint's sides, just below his armpits. He braced his feet. “Let go of the rail and stand up. I'm right here. I've got you. Lean on me if you need to."

Clint moved slowly but surely. He brought his feet in first, straightening his back, before letting go of the rail and standing straight. Then he carefully turned, taking small steps. Phil was impressed with how coordinated Clint still was, that he was moving easily, if slowly, under his own power. He looked into Clint's eyes, expecting to find them glazed over, and was surprised to find them bright and almost clear, just a little bit glassy. Clint was, however, wearing an almost goofy smile.

"I'd really like for you to hit me some more, sir," Clint said with a hopeful look. Phil considered. He wanted to give Clint what he needed. Now was not the time to be testing limits, but he knew he was nowhere near Clint's. Phil's main concern was still Clint's ability to do his job tomorrow, his very physically demanding job. Phil's eyes fell on Clint's chest, where the nipple clamps and chain still swung. 

'Maybe...' Phil thought.

"Hold the rail again," Phil said, and watched Clint reach behind himself and unerringly find the top bar, first with his left hand and then with his right. Phil held one hand up in front of Clint's face.

"How many fingers?"

"Three, sir. And my SHIELD service number is 9724-349-1286."

"Smartass,” Phil said, but there was both fondness and a hint of admiration in his voice.

"Yes, sir." 

Phil reached up and gave a sharp tug on the chain between the nipple clamps and Clint gasped, almost as if he'd forgotten that they were there. He'd be excruciatingly aware of them in just a minute... Phil rubbed his thumb across one clamped nipple, making Clint hiss, and then unfastened the device. He did the same to the other side and dropped the pair of clamps to the floor by the foot of the bed. 

"Don't move." Phil pressed the pad of one thumb over each nipple and pressed, knowing that the pain of the blood returning to the compressed tissue would be building quickly. Clint's eyes grew wide as it did, and just as he started to grunt in pain, Phil rubbed the abused nipples hard. 

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, Phil. Fuck."

Phil kept up the hard rubbing for a minute more, as Clint held himself still through the torture. Finally, Phil dropped his hands.

"Do you still want me to hit you again?"

"Yes sir, yes please, sir."

"Okay, last two, and then we're done."

"Thank you sir."

"Chin up; look at the ceiling."

Clint tipped his head back and Phil picked the whip up off the bed. He ran the leather through his hand once more, planted his feet, aimed, and struck. Once, and then again immediately, not giving Clint time to react between the two blows. Clint didn't move for a second, then screamed. Phil had laid the two lines horizontally across his chest, two inches above and below his nipples. 

Phil dropped his whip on the bed and moved in close.

"Clint, look at me. Are you okay?"

"Good sir, great sir, thank you sir. So good. Thank you sir."

"Okay, just take it easy for me. You're fine." Phil raised his hands and ran his fingertips lightly over the new welts, and then just barely brushed Clint's sore nipples for the pleasure of seeing him jerk and hearing him hiss. Phil ran one hand down Clint's chest and stomach to his groin and fondled his dick and balls, while continuing to trace the lines of the whip marks lightly with the other. Still touching Clint lightly, he waited while Clint’s breathing settled, then waited some more until his dick started to take more interest in the fondling it was receiving. Phil enjoyed feeling it harden fully in his hand. 

"You did very well, Clint. Extremely well. We're not quite done yet, though. There's something else I want from you."

"Anything, sir. Anything you want."

"Good. Very good." Phil put his hands back on Clint's sides, ready to steady him if he needed it. "Let go of the rail. Good, now climb up onto the bed. Take your time. Stay on your hands and knees."

Clint moved slowly and carefully, but surely. He was floating on a wonderful high, but he was still grounded enough to follow instructions, move around without stumbling, and be completely aware of his body and his surroundings. While he slowly, carefully climbed onto the bed and settled on his hands and knees for Phil, he was also drifting in a happy haze from the best whipping he'd had in years. He focused on the two stripes down his back and the two across his chest. He flexed and arched, rolling his shoulders to experience more of the delicious sensations — the hot burn, the deep ache, the sharp little flares of agony. They were all fantastic and welcome and soothing and wonderful.

"Will you be okay there for a minute?" Phil asked him once he'd settled on the bed.

"Yes, sir," Clint said, smiling at Phil, "I'm good, sir."

"You are. I'll be right there." Phil picked up the tools that were left on the bed, and the ones that had been dropped to the floor. He put everything in a pile on the dresser to deal with later, then climbed up onto the bed. He knelt on the mattress in front of Clint who looked up at him from his hands and knees, still wearing a slightly goofy smile. Phil shuffled forward a little so that he was almost, but not quite rubbing his groin into Clint’s face. Then he put his hands on the marks on Clint’s back, pressing a little with his fingers into the stripes of pain. Clint moaned.

"Good?" Phil asked.

"So good, sir, so very, very good. I can't tell you how good. Thank you sir."

"You're welcome." Phil took one hand off Clint's back and unbuckled his belt. Like he'd done the previous night, he shoved his pants and underwear down to his knees, freeing a hard, leaking cock.

"Suck me," he said, and Clint wanted to say, 'Thank you,' again, but instead put his lips to the glistening head and licked, desperate to taste Phil again. Clint licked all around the head, wanting to fully enjoy this gift Phil was allowing him. He heard a low rumbling moan come from Phil's chest and his own dick jumped at the sound. He was amazed that he could make Phil moan, and wanted to hear the sound again. He licked once more, then opened his mouth wide and took in the head of Phil's cock, caressing it with his lips and tongue, sucking gently, reverently, treating it like the precious thing that it was.

Clint felt Phil's hands on his back, felt Phil's fingers tracing the whip marks again and again. Felt the little flares of pain when Phil pressed into the edges of the long welts left by the thick, heavy whip. He sucked in more of Phil's cock, working around the shaft with his tongue, massaging the underside with firm strokes. Phil moaned again and pressed into the marks on his back. Clint moaned around Phil's cock.

"Yes. Yes, Clint, moan around my cock," Phil said, pressing the whip marks again. Clint inched forward until he'd taken Phil's entire length, burying his nose in Phil's wiry pubic hair and letting Phil's cock bump the back of his throat. His gag reflex had been beaten out of him so long ago that he'd forgotten he once had one. Taking a cock all the way down his throat was one of his greatest pleasures now, and he moaned again, long and deep, before tightening the suction around Phil's throbbing length. 

"Fuck, yes, Clint. Feels so good. So tight and wet on my cock, Clint. So good."

Clint sucked, then bobbed a little, slowly, letting the head of Phil's cock drag along the roof of his mouth while he continued to work the underside with his tongue. Then he plunged back down, taking it all in and swallowing around it before moaning again. He felt Phil tense, and worked harder, moaning continuously now, letting his attention become a little more sloppy as Phil pressed harder into the marks on his back and Clint became desperate to make Phil come. Desperate to make it good for Phil, to feel his release, to taste his cum again. Desperate to do well, to please Phil and make him happy, and get more pets and kind words and gentle caresses. 

Clint moaned and sucked. Kneeling over him, Phil tensed and shouted and came, spasming again and again into Clint's hot mouth. Clint swallowed, then released the pressure, letting his mouth go slack, but continuing to lap gently with his tongue, trying to capture everything and not spill or make a mess. Eventually Phil moved one hand to the side of Clint's face, and Clint stilled, opening his mouth wide so that Phil could withdraw. 

"That was wonderful, Clint. You've done very, very well."

Clint swallowed and flexed his jaw a couple of times before saying,

"Thank you, sir," and looking up at Phil's face from his position on his hands and knees. 

"Come up here." Phil put his hands under Clint's arms and coaxed him upright onto his knees, then gently stroked his face and his neck, fingers drifting down to the welts on his chest.

"How are you doing?"

"Wunnerful sir.” Now, used and almost spent, he couldn't help but slur a little. 

"Would you like to come, Clint?"

"Yes please, sir." Clint hadn't been paying much attention to his aching dick, but feeling Phil's orgasm reminded him that it was there, hard and wanting. Phil put one hand on the back of Clint's neck while the other continued to stroke lightly at the marks on his chest, then brushed across his sensitive nipples. Clint gasped and his dick twitched, his balls tight and aching.

Phil smiled, and pulled Clint in close, urging him to lean his forehead on Phil's shoulder. 

"You may touch me however you'd like to, Clint."

Clint raised one hand and laid it in the middle of Phil's chest, wanting to bury his fingers in the dark fuzz and feel Phil's heartbeat. He rested the other hand lightly on Phil's hip, just to be touching his skin. Clint sighed. He felt warm and cared for. Phil was going to let him come. Phil had whipped him and made him feel so good. Phil had let him suck his cock, and now Phil was going to let him come. 

"Thank you, sir," he said, but it came out as a mumble.

"Shh... relax. Let me do this for you." Phil's hand trailed down to his hard dick and stroked it with gentle fingers. "How do you like it, Clint? Tell me."

"Just... light..."

Phil swept his fingers up the underside again and then curled them loosely around Clint's dick and stroked lightly, skimming over the head and then brushing down to the base.

"Like this?"

"Oh God, sir, yes. So good, sir, just like... God. Phil. Fuck. Just like... that. Oh God." Phil was stroking him. Phil was stroking him with his warm fingers and it felt so good. It was perfect, light and gentle and perfect, and he was going to come in seconds from Phil's careful touches.

"Oh, God. Perfect. Phil. Sir. Yes. So goo... Ahhhh." He spurted hard into Phil's hand, gasping out his release. Phil held the back of his neck and massaged it gently, grounding him and comforting him. He had no idea how long they stayed there, kneeling on the bed and leaning against each other, but after a while, Phil squeezed the back of his neck and then released him.

"Sit down," Phil said, waiting until Clint had complied before moving away. "I'll be right back."

Clint closed his eyes, drifting in the afterglow of his orgasm and the comforting warm burn of his welts. Clint heard Phil come back into the room, but he waited until Phil told him to move before opening his eyes. Phil had turned down the covers, like last night; was holding a washcloth, like last night; and was urging him to kneel up so that Phil could wipe his groin with the warm cloth. Then Phil took a small white plastic jar off the nightstand and uncapped it. He scooped some cream onto his fingers and spread it over the welts on Clint's chest. It was cool and wet and it took away some of the sting and the burn. 

Clint wasn't sure he wanted the sting and the burn to be taken away quite yet, but he was too wrung out to object to Phil doing something caring. He submitted to the application of the cream on his chest, and then lay down where Phil told him to. He thought about warning Phil that he was going to get the cream all over his sheets, but Phil surely knew... The pillow was soft under his cheek. Phil's hands were on his back, spreading more cream, soothing away some of the surface pain, but leaving the deep ache. Clint loved the deep ache. Phil had been so good with the flogger. He'd ask for more, next time. If there was a next time. If he was allowed to ask. He was. Phil had said so, Phil had said he was always allowed to ask for something he wanted. He'd ask for more of the flogger, if Phil wanted him again... 

Clint was already drifting off when Phil turned off the lights and climbed into bed beside him. Like he had the previous night, he tugged and prodded until Clint was cuddled up to him, head on Phil's chest. Clint roused just enough to speak.

"I'm going to get this cream all over you."

"It's been a while, but I'm used to it. It's fine. Go to sleep." Phil kissed the top of his head.

"Thank you, Phil,” Clint said, as he drifted off, and Phil smiled a small smile into the dark.


	4. Chapter 4

Clint woke up curled around Phil, who was sleeping on his back with one hand on Clint's hip. He lay still for a minute, eyes closed, luxuriating in being snuggled up next to Phil, and smiled as the low throb of last night's whipping made itself known. He could feel a deep ache in the muscles of his back, lines of sharper, more insistent pain across his chest, and a fainter but very present throb across his butt cheeks. The shower was going to feel wonderful. His smile grew, his lips curving against Phil's chest, and he wished he dared kiss the warm skin there. He didn't know if he was allowed, and he didn't want to wake Phil that way only to find out that he wasn't.

The further along this path they went, the more Clint wanted, and the more he was afraid of losing. The more he learned what a wonderful, caring, giving, skilled Dom Phil was, the more he desperately wanted to be his Sub, to have these things regularly. To know what was allowed and what wasn't, to find out how he could earn the things he craved from Phil. Like another, harder whipping. And to be fucked. God, he wanted Phil to fuck him. Wanted it desperately. However Phil liked it, hard or soft, in whatever position he wanted, with whatever tools or toys, he'd take anything, just to feel Phil pounding into his ass with that wonderfully thick cock. 

The thought made Clint's dick stir, and he shifted slightly to make sure it wasn't pressing into Phil's leg. He didn't want Phil to wake up with Clint poking him. Shifting revived all of yesterday's aches, and he couldn't help stretching a little to feel them more. Phil woke up as he did.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. It's time to get up anyway." Phil tightened his grip on Clint's hip to keep him from moving away as he turned to look at the clock. "In fact, it's a little late. I guess we were both worn out from last night. How do you feel?"

"Fine sir, good. Really good."

"Good. I'm glad. I'll grab the shower first again, stay here and relax."

"Yes, sir."

Once Phil had climbed out of bed, Clint stretched luxuriously, feeling the aches move around on his skin and through his muscles. It felt fantastic, and he couldn't wait to see the marks in the bathroom mirror. He didn't have long to wait. Phil showered and shaved in record time and was back in the bedroom pulling on his boxers and picking out a suit ten minutes later. Clint padded to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror at the two red lines across his chest and grinned. He turned and tried to see his back, but could only get glimpses of the sets of small stripes from the flogger and the two long welts from the whip. He turned on the water and climbed into the shower, anticipating the sting…

They ate breakfast together exactly the same as they had the previous morning, except that Clint rolled his shoulders every so often to feel his welts, and Phil looked at his watch every so often to see how they were doing for time. Clint ate quickly, and as soon as they were done, he moved to the living room sofa without being told. Phil piled the dishes in the sink to deal with later, and joined him.

"I don't want to rush through this, because it's important. So don't worry about being late, okay?"

"Sure, sir."

“Tell me how you feel about what happened last night."

"Good, sir. Great. It was wonderful. I loved it."

"Take your shirt off." Phil had resisted looking earlier, but he told himself it would be irresponsible not to check Clint’s welts before they left for work. The fact that he also longed to see them, to touch the marks he’d left the night before…

"Sir?"

"I want to see."

Clint grinned. He stood up and pulled his shirt over his head. Phil stood in front of him and couldn't help reaching out to touch the marks on Clint's chest. He ran his fingertips over them lightly.

"How does that feel?"

"Fantastic, sir."

"Really?" 

"I love the way it aches the next day. I love being able to feel it every time I move. I..."

"What? Clint, tell me."

"I love being constantly reminded of what we did. Of what you gave me, sir."

Phil nodded. "Turn around."

Again, Phil raised his hands to the marks, brushing his fingertips across them. He didn't ask about Clint's daily archery practice, since he was going to visit the range later that morning. They would discuss it then. He stepped back.

"Okay, you can put your shirt back on and sit down." Clint did. "What did you like least about last night?" Phil asked.

"When you stopped hitting me, sir."

"Clint." Phil’s tone held a warning.

"I'm serious, sir. We didn't get anywhere near my limits; I could have taken a lot more."

"I'm sure you could have, but pushing your limits wasn't the point of last night."

"What was?" Clint asked, and then looked down, afraid he might have over-stepped.

"Hey, look at me.” Phil reached out and cupped Clint’s cheek, reassuring him with the touch and a gentle voice. “You can always ask questions, Clint. Always. This is important. We need to discuss all of this to make sure that we're on the same page, and that we want the same things. I want you to ask as many questions as you need to, understood?"

"Yes, sir,” Clint said and looked back up with a small, shy smile.

"The point of last night, for me, was to find out if the kind of pain play that I like best works for you. To find out if I can give you what you need, and get what I want as well."

"Oh."

"Don't worry, Clint, the answer to that is 'yes'. I loved whipping you, and you took my marks beautifully."

Clint turned a big bright smile on him.

"What did you like best?" Phil asked.

"I loved all of it sir, um... I loved the flogger, you were great with it. I loved sucking your cock. And I loved sleeping with you, again."

"Okay, good. What I liked least was not knowing how far I could go — but we'll talk more about that later. What I liked best was touching the marks on your back while you sucked me." 

The happy smile on Clint’s face nearly took Phil’s breath away. Phil wanted to see it more often. He wanted to make Clint smile at him like that as often as possible. 

“There's something else I want to discuss with you. First, though: are you happy to continue what we're doing?"

"Yes, sir, absolutely. I want to be yours, sir."

"I want that too. Do you want to continue tonight, or would you like to take a night off?"

"Tonight is fine, sir. I... I really love everything you do to me, I... I want as much as you're willing to give me, sir."

Phil shook his head a little.

"You keep saying things like that, Clint — it makes me want to build a dungeon and put you in it and tell SHIELD you've run off back to the circus." Clint grinned at him, and Phil shook his head again. 

"Seriously," Phil stopped and gave him a hard, intent look, "Is there anything you want to know that you haven't asked me, because you've been afraid to, or didn't know if you were allowed to ask?"

"Um... well, I guess... I guess I'd like to know... Um, when are you going to decide if you want me as your Sub, sir?"

Phil wanted to heave a sigh, but instead he looked Clint in the eyes and said very calmly,

"I want you as my Sub, Clint. That's not the issue. The issue is figuring out if taking you as my Sub is the right thing to do, for both of us. Do you understand?"

"I guess."

"And I'm sorry, I know it's not very fair to you, but I don't know how long that's going to take. What we've been doing is going well. Very well. I just need to be absolutely sure before I offer you my collar."

"Yes, sir."

"Is there anything else you want to ask about?"

"No, sir." 

"Okay. In that case, come on, time to go to work." Phil knew Clint didn’t understand the delay, but was resigned to it because he had no other choice. Phil felt bad about that, but he was still confident that being cautious and taking things slowly was the right thing to do. Not just for his own sake, but for Clint’s. The last thing Phil wanted was to be yet another Dom who had hurt Clint or let him down. He needed to be sure.

~~~~~~

Phil knew Clint's usual schedule, so after his first meeting of the morning (with a Sub who had worked with Jensen for years, and after five minutes of gentle questioning, had described being beaten while on a mission with the man for bringing him a 'cold' cup of coffee) Phil headed to the range to watch Clint practice.

The range was busy when he got there, but Phil went down to the very far end, where a lane appropriate for archery had been set up specifically for Clint ‘Hawkeye’ Barton, after SHIELD realized that arrows were more useful than bullets for certain types of operations. Clint was wearing his uniform pants and a black t-shirt, which covered up all evidence of the previous night's activities. Phil had a vision of coming down to watch Clint practice like this—some day in the not-too-distant future—and seeing Clint wearing his collar, and his marks. 'Proudly, for all to see...' Clint had said last night. Phil leaned against the back wall, not wanting to disturb his work, but Clint, who had obviously seen him, asked, 

"Something I can do for you, sir?" 

"Impress me," said Phil. 

Clint looked over his shoulder, surprised at the... request? Command? Order? But he gave a small, sharp nod. He walked down to the end of the lane and retrieved the half-dozen arrows that were sticking out of the target, then returned to his shooting line. He slotted the arrows into his quiver, and slung it on his back. 

"Twenty arrows," Clint said crisply, settling into his shooting stance. He nocked an arrow and drew his bow, sighting carefully at the target. Released. The arrow flew faster than Phil could see, but he saw it hit, the flat head perfectly horizontal a half-inch below the center dot.

"Nineteen," said Clint, and shot again. This time the arrow was a half-inch to the left of the center dot, at a 45 degree angle from true. "Eighteen" the third arrow formed a perfect equilateral triangle with the other two around the target's center dot. "Seventeen."

The next arrow hit the target where the second, red ring met the third, blue ring of the target at the 12 o'clock point. "Sixteen," Clint announced, and then rapid-fired the next fifteen arrows, moving so fast Phil could barely follow his draw arm, putting each arrow an exact three inches around the circle from its neighbor, making a perfect ring on the line where red met blue on the target, and calling out the count down to "one" as he did.

Clint paused. Took the last arrow from his quiver, nocked it, drew carefully, and put it dead center in the bull’s-eye, perfectly bisecting the triangle of arrowheads that framed the center point.

Clint lowered his bow and turned to Phil with a grin. Phil pushed himself off the wall and walked up to the shooting line, looking at the target.

"Nice shooting, Barton," he said, allowing Clint to see his small smile.

"Thank you, sir."

"I came to watch you practice because I was concerned that, ah, last night might have caused some... interference with your regular training." 

Clint laughed. 

"Sorry, sir," he said when he saw Phil's wounded expression. “But I've been shooting injured for as long as I've been shooting. My body compensates automatically. As long as I've got the strength in one arm to pull the draw, I'm fine.” He dropped his voice low so as not to be overheard. "You'd have to whip me a hell of a lot harder than you did last night for it to even begin to interfere with my shooting, sir. A whole hell of a lot harder."

"Good to know," Phil said quietly, then louder, "Come to my office at lunch time, Barton." 

"Will do, sir." Phil turned and left, missing Clint's grin as he rolled his shoulders to feel the ache of the welts across his back and chest.

~~~~~~

Two hours later, Clint knocked on the door of Coulson's office.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes," Phil said, opening a drawer and getting up from behind his desk. "Lock the door behind you."

Clint turned to do that, and when he turned back Phil said,

"Take your shirt off." Clint couldn't help a little grin as he followed the instruction. He figured it had to be a good sign that Phil wanted to look at the marks he'd made during his lunch hour. Phil wasn't looking, though, beyond a quick glance — he had something in his hand. Clint recognized it as the white plastic jar of ointment that Phil had used on him the previous night.

"I should have done this at home this morning, but we were running a little late," Phil said as he dipped his fingers into the jar. He put it back on his desk and advanced towards Clint.

"Sir, I don't need..." Clint took a step backwards.

"It's good stuff, Clint, aloe and vitamin E cream, it will help the marks heal faster," Phil said, raising his ointment-covered fingers towards Clint's chest.

"Sir, I don't want..." Clint took another half-step backwards, putting his back to the door. "Sir, I.... Harrier."

Phil froze. Clint dropped to his knees and bowed his head. Phil took his handkerchief out of his pocket and started wiping the cream off his fingers. His movement made Clint flinch.

"Clint, look at me, please." Phil's voice was soft and gentle, and that was what made Clint look up. Phil finished wiping his fingers, then put his handkerchief back into his pocket and held his hands out, fingers spread, to show Clint that they were clean and free of cream. Then he took a step backwards, to give Clint space.

"Please stand up, Clint," he said in the same soft voice. Clint dropped his eyes as he rose, looking at a spot on the carpet near Phil's feet. Phil didn't have the heart to ask him to look up.

"I'm sorry. Clint, I shouldn't have done that. It was wrong. I was wrong to act as if I get to make decisions about your body. I was treating you as if you're already mine, when I haven't made any kind of commitment to you yet. I'm very sorry. I hope you can forgive me."

Clint's head came up at that.

"Forgive you? But... you're not mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you, Clint?" Again in the soft, gentle, reassuring tone that promised that everything was going to be okay.

"For stopping you from doing something you wanted to do to me. For calling safeword over something so... little."

"If you felt strongly enough about it to call safeword, Clint, then it wasn't little. Would you be willing to tell me why you don't want the ointment?" Phil picked Clint's shirt up off the chair where he had dropped it, and handed it to him. Clint didn't move to put it on, just held it in his hands, worrying at the seam of the neck with his fingers.

"I... I don't want the marks to heal faster."

"I see. Will you tell me why?"

"Because I like feeling them. I love feeling them.” Clint struggled to explain, partly because he’d never had to put this into words before, and partly because it was hard to admit to Phil what he was feeling. “It... they... feeling the marks every time I move makes me feel... good. Wanted. Like... like you care about me."

"I do care about you, Clint. I care about you very much."

"I... you keep saying that, and I want to believe you. It's just that..."

"That I'm making you wait. I'm making you jump through hoops to pass a test when you don't even know what the questions are, and it's not fucking fair." 

Clint looked up in surprise and cracked a tiny grin.

"That's about the size of it, sir, yes. Also... if... if it turns out that... if you decide you don't want me as your Sub, sir, then I want the marks to stay for as long as possible... to remember..." Clint's eyes dropped to the carpet again, and Phil felt like he'd been punched in the gut. 

"Clint, may I touch you?"

"Yes, sir.” Again, Clint's head came up and there was a ghost of a smile, remembering their exchange the first time Phil had asked that question. Phil moved slowly, stepping in close to Clint before moving his arms.

"I've been wanting to do this for two days," he said, pulling Clint into a hug, holding on tight, knowing that his arms across Clint's back were pressing into the welts left by his flogger and whip. Clint moaned softly, and put his own arms around Phil, hanging on for dear life.

"If this doesn't work out between us, Clint. If I don't end up as your Dom, that doesn't mean we can't still see each other, sometimes." And as the words came out of his mouth, Phillip J. Coulson realized that he was falling in love with Clint Barton. 

"Do you really mean that sir? That sometimes I could come home with you, for the night, like we've been doing?"

"Yes. Would you like that, Clint?" Phil knew he was saying it because he hated the desperate longing he'd seen in Clint's eyes when he’d said he wanted the marks to stay for as long as possible.

"Yes, sir. Oh, God, yes, please sir." Phil rubbed a hand soothingly up and down Clint's back, eliciting another moan as Phil's hand pressed into the welts on Clint's back. "Would you... would you whip me again, sir?"

"As much as you want, Clint, as much as you want," Phil murmured. He was so screwed. He planted a light soft kiss on the side of Clint's neck and then released him.

“Do you still want to come home with me tonight? I'll understand if you'd rather take the night off, or if you want some time - "

"No, sir. I want to go home with you tonight, sir. Very much, sir." 

"Okay then, meet me here at six, as usual."

"Yes, sir." Clint grinned and pulled his shirt over his head. 

"Oh, and Clint,"

"Sir?”

"Thank you, for trusting me to honor your safeword." Phil’s expression was serious and sincere.

"I... I knew you would, sir. I never doubted it for a second." Clint said softly.

"Good. Now get. I have work to do."

"Yes, sir!"

~~~~~~

When Clint arrived at Coulson's office at six that evening, carrying his rucksack as usual, he found Phil's admin already gone, and a light shining under the office door. He knocked.

"Come."

When Clint saw Phil still at his desk, surrounded by papers, his heart fell.

"Clint, hi. I'm sorry, but my meeting with Commander Hill this afternoon ran very long, so I'm behind." 

"That's okay, sir, if you don't have time..." Clint trailed off miserably. He figured Phil was making an excuse. Apparently what had happened at lunchtime had actually been a problem after all.

"Don't be silly,” Phil said with a reassuring smile. “I just need another fifteen or twenty minutes to finish up here, that’s all. Look, why don't you go down to the cafeteria and grab us both whatever they've got left for dinner. That way we won't have to stop for food on the way to my place."

"Sure sir, absolutely,” Clint said with obvious relief. “Be right back!" He dropped his rucksack and headed out. 

Half an hour later they were sitting side-by-side on the sofa in Phil's office, eating warmed-over mac-and-cheese, Clint's with plenty of ketchup, Phil's with three packets of black pepper.

"I'm thinking we should have stopped on the way back to mine after all,” Phil said. “This stuff is pretty bad.” 

"It's better than a lot of stuff I've eaten."

"Yes, me too, but I was in the Army and lived on MREs for months at a time, so after that just about any food that doesn't come out of a foil packet is heaven."

The ensuing talk about the best and worst meals they'd ever eaten got them through the mac-and-cheese, Phil closing up his office, and the walk home.

~~~~~~

Clint took off his boots and dropped his bag beside them in the front hall, then headed for the living room. Phil stripped off his suit jacket and tie and put his briefcase down on the table. When he turned around, Clint was already naked and kneeling in his usual spot by the sofa. Phil hadn't bothered to move the coffee table back since yesterday.

Phil looked at him, kneeling there, waiting for him, and felt a pang of longing that he had a hard time quashing. If the things he needed to find out tonight weren't so damn important to him... he'd pull Clint into his arms right then and offer him a collar. Phil took a steadying breath and sat down on the sofa in front of Clint. He spread his knees and Clint moved in close, between them.

'Where he belongs,' said Phil's brain treacherously. 

Phil stroked his face and then ran light fingertips over the marks on Clint's chest. 

"Today, in my office, when you called safeword, it looked like you expected me to hit you for it. Did you?"

"Not... You wouldn't, sir."

"No, I wouldn't. But you have been, in the past."

Clint nodded.

"Have you been punished for using your safeword, Clint?"

"Yes, sir."

"You know that I will never do that."

"Yes, sir."

"We do, however, need to discuss punishment."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." The expression on Clint's face was one of profound relief, and Phil was surprised.

"You're happy about that?"

"Yes, sir. I... I feel more comfortable when the rules, and the consequences for breaking them, are clear." It was one of the reasons that Clint had worked so well with Coulson as his handler. Coulson believed in making sure that everyone on an operation knew what was going on at all times, insofar as that was possible.

Phil nodded thoughtfully.

“Tell me then, Clint, how should I punish you when you misbehave?"

"Sir?"

"I asked you a question."

"But, sir, that's not for me to say..."

"I'm asking you Clint, to tell me what an effective way to punish you is,” Phil said in his velvet-over-steel command voice. Clint shivered.

"Um, well... You could beat me, sir."

"I'm not going to do that, Clint. And I think you know it. Try again."

"Um, you could..." Clint squeezed his eyes shut tight for a second and then opened them again. "You could not let me eat, sir," he said, voice trembling.

Phil reached out and put one hand under Clint's chin, tipping his head up.

"I couldn't do that to you, Clint. I won't. Ever. Suggest something else."

Clint looked relieved.

"Well, sir," his ears went a little pink. "You could make me stand in the corner, naked, and ignore me."

"Ah," Phil nodded approvingly. "That sounds much more reasonable. But I thought you liked being naked?"

"I do, sir, when you're paying attention to me. I don't like it so much when I'm being ignored." 

Phil nodded his understanding.

"So, if you misbehave, I'll tell you to stand in the corner, naked, and I won't pay any attention to you. I won't speak to you, or even look at you, until I decide it's been long enough. If you're very bad, I'll make you face the wall, instead of the room." Phil figured that gently restricting Clint's field of vision would be effective. Clint swallowed, and nodded.

"And if you're very, very bad, Clint? What do I do then?"

"You... you tie my hands behind my back while I'm naked in the corner, facing the wall, sir."

Phil very carefully schooled his expression so that nothing showed on his face, while his stomach sank. He nodded, and was quiet for a minute. Almost unconsciously, his fingers found the marks on Clint's chest and he traced them over and over again.

"Have you ever had a good experience with bondage, Clint?"

"Sure, sir. Lots of times."

"But you've also had lots of negative ones. Some very negative, traumatic, even."

"Some, sir. Yes."

Phil ran a hand across his own face. He was messing this up, he didn't know what to ask or how to explain... maybe he should just come out and say it.

"Bondage is something I like, Clint. A lot. So I need to know if you're still able to enjoy it."

"I'll enjoy anything you do to me, Phil,” Clint said, looking up at him almost shyly.

"You don't know that, and it's not the point."

"Except that I'm pretty sure I do know it, sir. You're good to me. Even when you're pushing me hard, you're taking care of me at the same time. Yeah, I've been tied up and left and it was awful and I hated it and I never want it to happen again. But I know you would never do that, sir. Whatever you do to me, you'll make sure you're making it good for me, like you already have, last night and the night before.” Clint was speaking earnestly and Phil realized the truth of the words as Clint said them.

“That's why I want this so much, sir, no one's ever…” Clint looked down for a second, as if gathering his courage to make the admission. “No one's ever made it good for me like you do. No one's ever cared about me the way you do. I... I didn't even really know that Doms actually cared about Subs like that.”

Phil looked at Clint, and again, he wanted wrap the Sub up in his arms and kiss him and stroke him and pet him, and then fuck him, hard and rough, so that he could stroke him and pet him again, afterwards. 

"So if tonight, I wanted to tie you down on my bed, stretched out taut, with thick leather cuffs around your wrists, and ankles, and a wide belt across your chest, pinning you down so that you couldn't move at all, you'd be okay with that?"

"Yes, sir. Yes please, sir." Clint emphasized the ‘please’ with an eagerness that Phil had a hard time taking at face value. 

"You're sure." Phil was holding himself tightly controlled, still afraid of disappointment.

"Phil, I kinda knew you were into bondage the first time I saw your bed. I'm gonna love being tied down to it, I promise."

Phil opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

"Have I told you you're a bit of a smartass?"

"Yes, sir. More than once,” Clint said with a hint of his signature smirk.

"Do you need to use the washroom?"

"No, sir."

"Come with me." Phil led the way into the bedroom. "Kneel," he said, and Clint dropped to his knees beside the bed.

Phil opened a drawer in his toy cabinet. He began to take things out and lay them on the bed. Clint watched as Phil put a set of heavy leather cuffs on the bed near his head. Phil's thumb stroked the edge of one reverently for a moment before turning back to the drawer and taking out a second set of cuffs, this one even larger and heavier. 

Ankle cuffs, Clint supposed.

Next came two long leather straps fitted with D-rings at regular intervals that Phil laid across the mattress, and two wide leather belts with buckles and more D-rings. Lastly, Phil dropped several bundles of thick, dark rope, and a handful of carabineers near the head of the bed. Phil moved to stand in front of Clint and carded his hand through Clint's hair a couple of times.

"Is it okay if I leave you here like this for a few minutes?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm going to grab a quick shower. It will give you some time to make sure you're comfortable with all this." Phil waved a hand at the things on the bed. "You may touch them if you like. I'll be as fast as I can."

"Yes, sir," Clint said, and watched Phil leave the room. For a minute, he just looked at the thick leather cuffs sitting on the bed in front of him. They were sturdy-looking and well-made, obviously expensive. Clint could smell the rich scent of the leather and also some sort of conditioning oil. He reached out and picked one up. It was smooth in his fingers. He traced the contour of a line of stitching, and looked at the imprints of the buckles on the straps, which spoke of much use.

These were Phil's cuffs. He'd obviously had them a long time, and used them often. Phil had said he hadn't brought anyone home in five years. That meant he'd used these cuffs with his last Sub, Zach. The SHIELD agent who had died. Who Phil said he had loved, very much. And now Phil was going to use them on Clint.

Clint fought the urge to rub the smooth leather of the cuff against his throat, to feel for a second what it might be like to have Phil's collar around his neck. Instead, he caressed the leather cuff again with his fingers, and then put it back on the bed. He wanted to put the cuffs on, to be wearing them when Phil came back into the room, to show Phil how much he wanted it. But Phil had only said he could touch them, not wear them, and besides, Clint also very much wanted to feel Phil's hands buckling them onto his wrists and ankles.

Clint heard a noise and turned to see Phil coming into the bedroom, naked and carrying a couple of small towels, which he slung over the foot rail of the bed. Clint swallowed, his eyes tracking Phil's form. Phil noticed him staring and turned towards Clint.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, sir. It's... it's just that I've never seen you naked before, not properly." He'd only had glimpses of Phil when he climbed out of bed, the last two mornings, and headed for the shower. Then he’d come back with a towel around his waist and start rooting in his closet for clothes, while Clint headed for his turn in the shower.

"I'm not much to look at," Phil said, blushing a tiny bit, but not turning away. Letting Clint look his fill.

"That's not true, sir..." Clint swallowed again, "I... think you're very... attractive."

"Thank you," said Phil in a dry tone that Clint couldn't interpret. "Up on the bed, on your hands and knees in the middle."

Clint scrambled to obey, careful not to knock the cuffs off the bed as he did.

Phil moved to his toy cabinet again and opened a different drawer. He pulled out three items, tossing the first two, a bottle of lube and a very large, thick butt plug, onto the bed near where Clint knelt. Clint's eyes went wide. The butt plug wasn't the biggest thing that had ever been shoved up his ass, but it was close.

Phil saw him staring at it.

"You're going to take that," he said in his velvet-over-steel voice. The voice that made Clint want to roll over and beg Phil to use him.

"Yes, sir," Clint said.

"Have you ever worn one of these before?" Phil asked, holding up the third item, a stretchy silicon cock ring.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Are you willing to let me put it on you, or would you rather do it yourself?

"You can... I'd like for you to do it, sir," Clint said, and then, as Phil moved to the side of the bed, "Sir? You said... you said I was allowed to ask for things."

"Yes, you are. What would you like, Clint?"

"I'd... if you... I'd like to wear your cuffs, sir, while I... while I'm taking the plug, sir."

Phil looked at him, expression indecipherable, but after a moment he nodded, and then climbed up onto the bed. 

"Spread your legs more, and then stay still.”

Clint spread his knees further apart, then bit his lip as Phil reached under him and fed his balls, one at a time, through the stretchy loop of the cock ring. His dick was half-hard when Phil grasped it—not roughly, but not too gently either—and pushed it down to pull it through the cock ring. Phil palmed his balls and then his dick, making sure everything was well settled. Clint moaned.

"Okay?" Phil asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Tell me right away if you feel any sharp pain, or if anything doesn't feel right."

"Yes, sir."

“Kneel up." Phil moved in front of him and picked up one of the smaller cuffs, holding it in his hands and running his fingers along the edge, again.

"Left arm," said Phil, and his voice was gruff. Clint held out his left arm, palm up. For a minute, Phil just looked at Clint's arm, holding the cuff in his hands and stroking his thumb along the edge of the leather. Then he spread the cuff open and placed it against the underside of Clint's wrist. Clint held back the loud moan that wanted to break free. He could tell that this was important to Phil, and he didn't want to interrupt or interfere in any way. The cuff had three straps and buckles, and Phil slowly fastened each one, until the leather was snug, but not tight, against Clint's wrist. 

It was incredible. Clint opened and closed his fist so that he could feel the leather against his flexing muscles.

"Okay?" Phil asked.

"More than okay. It's... it feels fantastic." Clint's eyes were bright as he held out his right arm for the other cuff. Phil gave a tiny nod and buckled the second cuff on. Then he grasped Clint's forearms, just above the cuffs, and turned his palms down. Phil ran his hands up Clint's arms and back down to the cuffs, trailing his fingers over skin and then leather. This time Clint didn't hold back, but moaned at the touch of Phil's hands.

"Hands and knees," said Phil, his voice still rough as he moved around to Clint's left side and picked up the ankle cuffs. Clint knelt obediently as Phil buckled them on with the same slow care. It felt almost as good as the hug Phil had given him in his office that afternoon. It felt like being held, safe and secure, so when Phil finished at his ankles and backed off, then asked,

"How does that feel?"

"Safe," Clint answered, honestly. "And good. Really, really good."

Phil didn't trust himself to speak. Seeing Clint in his cuffs, the contrast of the soft dark leather against Clint's pale, scarred skin, had affected him more than he’d expected. He knew it was going to be an emotional wrench, to put Clint in the cuffs that he hadn't used since Zach died, but he hadn't expected to feel so strongly possessive as soon as the cuffs were buckled on.

'Mine. My Sub. Mine,' his brain was chanting at him. And again, Phil had to fight the urge to tie Clint down and fuck him, claim him. Instead he picked up the bottle of lube and used one hand to spread Clint's ass cheeks while he dribbled a generous amount of lube between them. Clint yelped a bit at the cold.

"You can make as much noise as you want to, and you can push back onto the plug. Other than that, you don't move."

"Yes, sir,” Clint said, feeling strangely lightheaded. Usually only the endorphin rush from being hurt affected him, but right now, on his hands and knees on Phil's bed, wearing Phil's snug-fitting thick leather cuffs, and knowing that Phil was about to start pushing that huge plug into his ass, he felt a little bit floaty in a way that he didn't usually during a scene. Clint could hear the lube bottle being squeezed and he assumed Phil was coating the plug. He trusted Phil to use plenty of lube, but taking that huge plug was still going to be a struggle. His dick twitched, though, hardening further at the thought of the plug filling him up once it was in. It wouldn't be as good as Phil's cock, but it would still be good, very good, taking it for Phil. Because Phil wanted him to. Because Phil had ordered him to. 

Clint was calm and relaxed, and sighed a happy sigh when Phil put one hand on the small of his back and rubbed in soothing circles. The next thing Clint felt was the pointed tip of the silicon plug at his hole. Clint let out another sigh, and felt the plug start to slip in as Phil pushed with gentle pressure.

"Good," said Phil, continuing to rub his back, "Stay nice and relaxed, just like that. Very good."

The pressure continued, and Clint started to feel a stretch in his ass. It wasn't burning, not yet, but Phil kept the pressure on the butt plug constant. Clint dragged in a deep breath of air, let it out slowly, and consciously tried to relax further. The plug slipped in a little deeper, but it was widening significantly now, and the stretch was becoming a burn. Clint whined a little.

"You're okay. You're doing very well, Clint,” Phil said, as he kept up the pressure on the plug. 

It was... it was unlike anything Clint had ever felt before. He'd had Doms viciously shove fingers and dildoes and the necks of beer bottles into him, as play or as punishment. The burning pain would tip Clint over into an endorphin high pretty quickly, and he'd just ride out whatever abuse of his asshole followed. This wasn't like that at all. It was slow, and constant, and the burn of being stretched so slowly wasn't enough to allow Clint to let go. Instead, the insistent pressure and the fact that he was being forced so far open made him feel... emotional. Clint had to bite his lip to stop himself from babbling all the things he wanted Phil to do to him. All the ways he wanted Phil to use him, to claim him, to own him. Phil was making him take this enormous plug, and Clint wanted to sob, to swear to do anything, anything at all, if Phil would just say he wanted Clint.

It was too much. Too much pressure. Too big. Too far open. Too much of himself, of his heart, of his soul being laid bare for Phil to see. Phil who was rubbing his back and murmuring that he was good, that he was doing well.

"Sir... Phil. I... I can't. It's too much," Clint gasped out the words as his legs started to tremble.

"You can, Clint. You can and you will. I want you to. I want you to take it." After the incident that afternoon in his office, Phil was confident that Clint would use his safeword if he needed to, so he was pushing Clint hard. He could have made taking the plug easier on Clint. He could have stretched him open with fingers first, or rubbed and pinched his nipples, or played with his balls and his dick to turn him on. But Phil wanted to see how Clint would react to something difficult, wanted to know how much Clint would be able to take just because Phil told him to. He also wanted to know what Clint would do, and say, when he was near the edge.

"Sir..." Clint thought about calling safeword. It wasn't that it hurt too much. It didn't. It didn't hurt anywhere near enough, and that was part of the problem. He was feeling every little bit of stretch and burn, without the endorphin rush to help smooth over the pain. He was feeling pried open, exposed. He was afraid he might start to cry.

"Sir, I need..." Clint wasn't sure what he needed. He wasn't going to ask Phil to stop. He wasn't going to call safeword, he knew that now. He wanted to ask Phil to just shove the damn thing in and get it over with, but he knew Phil would never agree. The warm hand kept rubbing circles on the small of his back, and the pressure in his ass as Phil steadily pushed the butt plug into him didn't let up for a second.

Clint tried to rock himself back onto the plug, to speed up the process—Phil had said he was allowed to do that—but the burn made him cry out. How could it hurt this much without hurting enough? 

Phil didn't stop. Didn't let up, but he did ask,

"What do you need, Clint?"

"What?" Clint's mind was a little foggy, he didn't understand the question.

"Just now, you started to say you needed something. What do you need, Clint? Tell me so I can give it to you.”

"I need... I need... you, sir. I need more... I..." More contact. More reassurance, more touch, more caring, just... more.

Phil moved the hand that was rubbing the small of his back. He brushed the backs of his fingers down the side of Clint's face, once, and then used the tips of two to press down on Clint's chin, opening his mouth.

"Suck," Phil said, putting his index and middle fingers into Clint's open mouth, and clamping his lower jaw tight between his thumb and remaining fingers. 

Clint sucked. Phil's fingers were long and thick and warm in his mouth. It wasn't as good as sucking Phil's cock had been, the night before, but it was good. Having any part of Phil inside him felt wonderful. Having something to do, to concentrate on, something so comforting... Clint was steadfastly ignoring the symbolism, concentrating instead on the feeling of Phil's fingers on his tongue, and Phil's hand holding his jaw tight, anchoring him, grounding him. The pain and pressure in his ass didn't abate at all, but somehow, suddenly, it got a lot more endurable. Clint sucked. 

The pressure in his ass was constant. Clint moaned around Phil's fingers. Phil started to gently rock the plug, keeping up the same even pressure he'd been using all along. He jogged it up and down, just a little, but the fat plug was so big that the downward pressure of the rocking nudged Clint's prostate, sending sparks through him. He moaned again, long and loud. He sucked harder, more messily, more sloppily, on Phil's fingers. Clint pushed back onto the plug again, trying to take more of it, this time moaning and whining rather than wincing. Phil rocked the plug and kept up the pressure, watching as Clint's ass tried to spasm around the intrusion. 

It burned. Clint felt like he was being split wide open, and the only reason he didn't mumble his safeword around Phil's fingers was that he trusted Phil implicitly not to do any real damage. He knew that the burn he felt was just the stretch, and not his skin tearing. He could take it. Phil wanted him to. He wanted to. Phil kept rocking the plug and the plug was nudging his happy button and sending little jolts of ecstasy through him. He pushed back again. Wanting more. More burn, more pain, more stretch, more fullness, more pressure. Wanting everything, now. Wanting to be split open, laid bare. Wanting to give Phil everything.

The plug slipped all the way in, and Clint moaned long and loud around Phil's fingers as his abused asshole clenched around the smaller neck of the plug. Phil settled the narrow base firmly between his butt cheeks, but he kept up the pressure, and the rocking, which now had Clint moaning almost continuously. Only the cock ring was stopping him from coming from the massive pressure in his ass and the nudges on his prostate. The rocking slowed down, and the pressure eased up. Clint realized that Phil was talking to him, murmuring,

"You're doing so well for me, Clint. So very well. I love how well you took that for me. You're being so good for me, Clint. So very good." 

Clint wanted to purr. He wanted to snuggle onto Phil's chest and curl up like a contented kitten and never have to move. The rocking in his ass stopped. 

Phil wiped his hand on one of the towels he'd left hanging on the foot rail of the bed, and then rubbed Clint's back. He used long strokes and firm pressure, sliding his fingers over the purple welts from the previous night's whipping. Clint whimpered a little around the fingers in his mouth, and then went back to sucking on them. Phil rubbed his back for a few minutes more, giving Clint the chance to recover from the intensity of taking the butt plug. Then Phil released his hold on Clint's jaw, and slowly slipped his fingers out of Clint's mouth. He continued to rub Clint's back.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

Clint lifted and turned his head, looking into Phil's face for the first time since Phil had breached his ass with the plug.

"Good, sir."

"Okay. In your own time, moving as slowly as you need to, I want you to lie down on your back, here," Phil said, patting the mattress. 

Clint nodded, and moved one knee experimentally. The bulk in his ass shifted and he groaned. He took a deep breath, and decided that it might be easiest to lie down first and then roll over. He dropped to his elbows, then eased his legs down, and yelped when his hard, trussed dick hit the sheets. He shifted, slowly, onto one hip, and from there rolled onto his back. He lay panting. He looked up at Phil, who was watching him with a fond smile.

Phil put a hand on Clint's chest and rubbed lightly across the marks there. 

"I'm going to tie you down now. I won't leave the room. I won't even get off the bed while you're tied, Clint. I promise. I'll do my best to be touching you at all times."

Clint swallowed around a lump in his throat. Phil took such good care of him, always. 

"Thank you, sir," Clint said.

"Ready?"

"Yes, sir."

Phil moved to the head of the bed and picked up one of the bundles of rope he'd left there. He quickly tied a small loop around the corner post of the headboard, and then took Clint's left hand in his. He passed the rope through one of the large sturdy D-rings on the leather cuff, and tied the rope back to the bedpost with a solid reef knot. Clint looked at the rope, and the knot.

"Okay?" Phil asked.

"Yes, sir. Fine."

"Good." Phil moved around to his other side, and did the same, tying the rope to the bedpost, then through the cuff, then back to the bedpost. His arms were stretched out wide across the big king-sized bed. Clint took a deep breath in and out. He was safe. Phil was here, Phil wouldn't leave him. Phil had promised.

Phil climbed onto the mattress next to Clint and sat back on his heels. He looked at Clint for a minute, just waiting. He didn't ask again if Clint was okay, he just waited. He watched as Clint's breathing settled, as Clint shifted his shoulders a little, getting used to the pull of the ropes, as Clint opened and closed his hands a couple of times, testing the give of the leather cuffs now that he was tied to the bed. Phil laid his hand on Clint's chest again, running his fingers along the edges of one of the whip marks. Clint met his eyes. Phil smiled, and taking two bundles of rope with him, moved down the bed to tie Clint's ankles. 

The first one was easy, just as the wrists had been, but when Phil got to his other ankle, things got interesting.

"I want to tie you taut, so I'm going to need you to work with me for a minute," Phil said, once he had the rope tied to the bed and looped through the second cuff. 

"Sure, sir," Clint said, not knowing what Phil needed him to do, but more than willing to do whatever was asked of him. 

"Good. Move your butt as close to me as you can manage," Phil said. 

Clint started to squirm his butt closer to the corner of the bed where Phil held his ankle and the rope, and then swore when the big butt plug made its presence felt. 

"Take your time," Phil said mildly. Clint tried to move again, but there was almost no play in the ropes. 

"I can't move any more than that, sir."

"I'm going to help." Phil pulled on his ankle, hard. Clint gasped as the plug shifted again, and then tried to wriggle his butt closer, like Phil was asking. He slid maybe an inch, the ropes on his arms and other leg pulling taut.

"Good." Phil quickly tied a solid knot and Clint relaxed, or tried to, with his arms and legs drawn out tight to the four corners of the bed.

"Is that okay?"

"Just peachy," Clint said through gritted teeth. It wasn’t bad, it was just… tight.

"Clint?" Phil said sharply.

"It's fine, sir. I'm fine." Clint looked up into Phil’s eyes and gave him a small smile. “Really sir, I’m good.”

Phil put his hand on Clint's ankle and ran it up his leg as he moved to Clint's waist. The wide leather strap Phil had laid across the mattress was almost perfectly positioned; Phil just needed to lean over the side of the bed to hook it to the tie-point. To move over and do the other side, he threw a leg over Clint's waist, straddling him and letting his balls brush Clint's hard dick. Clint swore. He didn't have enough mobility to buck, but since he hadn't been explicitly told not to move (this time) he wiggled his hips a little under Phil.

"Smartass," Phil said, slapping Clint's dick lightly as he moved over, but he said it with a fond smile. The other end of the strap secured to the side of the bed, Phil turned his attention to the belt that lay near it. He fed one end under the small of Clint's back and then buckled it snugly around his waist.

"Take a deep breath." Clint did. "Okay?"

"Yes," Clint said, a little breathlessly. Being tied by his wrists and ankles wasn't new, even if the thick soft cuffs were the nicest he'd ever worn, and the tautness of the ropes meant it was the most restrained he'd ever felt... But add the wide leather belt around his waist, that Phil was about to tie down to the strap on the mattress... It was doing something to Clint, making him feel scared and safe at the same time. Phil reached up and grabbed two carabineers from the pile at the head of the bed, and used them to clip two D-rings on either side of the belt to the strap on the mattress. Clint's heart started to pound and his breathing sped up. Phil noticed.

Phil moved so that he was sitting on his heels at Clint's right side, near his hip. He put both hands on Clint, one on his right thigh and the other on his chest.

"You're okay, Clint. I've got you. You're okay."

Clint nodded.

"It's... it's okay. Really. I'm fine. It's just... a lot."

"Good. You're doing very well, Clint, taking all this for me. So very well." Phil rubbed the hand up and down his thigh, but the other one just sat, gently and calmly over his heart for a minute while Clint calmed, his breathing and heart rate dropping back to normal. 

"Ready to continue?"

"Yes, sir. Yes please, sir." Clint wanted it. Wanted to be tied down to Phil's bed so that Phil could do anything to him, anything he wanted. Phil had promised not to leave. Phil had said he would keep touching him. Being tied down with Phil touching him was fine. It was good. It was wonderful.

Phil positioned the second strap, nudging it into position under Clint's shoulder blades, and secured it to the sides of the bed. Then he picked up the second belt.

"Arch your back for me." Clint looked at him as if he had two heads. "I know you can do it, Clint. Arch your back." Clint considered a moment. Normally, of course, he could, using his heels and the top of his head, but with his waist tied down... Well, he could certainly at least show Phil he'd tried. Clint dug his shoulders into the mattress and threw his chest up towards the ceiling. Doing so made him clench... well, just about everything, including his ass around the massive butt plug. He winced, and dropped back to the mattress.

“Are you okay?” Phil asked, concerned.

“I’m fine. My ass is just a little sore.”

"Good," said Phil, who'd had enough time to feed the second belt under Clint's back and was now straddling him, his hot groin resting over Clint's belly. Phil ran his fingers along the edges of the lower of the two welts on Clint's chest, then wrapped the belt over it and pulled it snug. Clint moaned. Phil fastened the buckle. Clint was breathing heavily again, this time from the soreness in his ass and across his chest as the tight leather belt pressed on the mark left by Phil's whip. Phil reached out and stroked his cheek.

"You're okay, I've got you," Phil said very softly. Again he waited for Clint to settle, then said, “Take a deep breath for me.”

Clint did. His chest felt a little tight, like the time one of his Doms had strapped him into a corset. He said as much to Phil.

“Do you want me to loosen it?”

“No, it’s okay.”

“If you have any trouble breathing, or if you feel light-headed, you tell me right away.”

“Yes sir.”

Phil picked up two more carabineers and clipped the belt around Clint's chest to the upper strap on the mattress. Clint looked at Phil and he forced himself to breath evenly. His eyes went a little wide when he felt Phil's dick twitching against his stomach. 

"Look at you," Phil said softly, stroking Clint's cheek again. "Being so good for me. All strapped down and ready." Phil shifted down Clint's body a little until his butt was up against Clint's hard, trussed dick. Clint moaned and strained at the straps holding him down as the head of his aching dick rubbed the soft skin of Phil's lower back.

"You can squirm as much as you want to, this time. And make as much noise as you want. But you're not to come until I tell you you can. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Clint said breathlessly, his hands opening and closing spasmodically. Phil smiled and touched Clint's face, his neck, the hollow of his throat, his shoulders, his chest. Phil ran light fingers across Clint's nipples to make him moan and try to arch. Phil smiled again, and leaned down to nip at Clint's nipples with his teeth. 

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Clint yelled and again tried to arch his back, which only served to press the welt on his chest harder into the leather belt. He squirmed, and for a moment threw all his strength into fighting the restraints. Not because they scared him, but just to try to burn off some of the tension that had been building since Phil first put the cock ring around his dick and balls. 

Phil waited, getting more and more aroused as Clint's body twitched beneath him, trying to thrash but stopped by the restraints. He waited, not moving, to see if Clint was going to call safeword. When Clint's body stilled, he said,

"Look at me." 

Clint's eyes focused on Phil's face.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, sir. Please sir, do something, anything. Just... do something."

"How about I give you something to do?" 

"Yes please, sir." Clint had no idea how he was going to be able to do anything, tied down like this, but maybe Phil was going to let him suck his dick again — that would be awesome, and Clint's mouth started to water at the thought. But Phil turned around, still straddling Clint's chest, to face his feet. Phil twisted around to grab the bars of the headboard with one hand, and sank down lower, so that his ass hung just above Clint's face. With his other hand, Phil spread his cheeks so Clint could see his puckered hole.

"Get it nice and wet for me."

"Yes, sir." Clint said, and put the saliva in his mouth to good use. Phil tasted of soap and tangy musk. Clint worked his tongue over Phil's opening, wanting to taste him, wanting to delve inside, but he hadn't been told to, so he didn't, yet, he just worked his tongue back and forth, licking Phil's ass again and again. Phil moaned. Clint's dick jumped. Phil sank down a little closer to Clint's face and Clint worked harder, massaging the tight ring of muscle with the hot wetness of his tongue. Phil moaned again, and dropped his ass until he was almost sitting on Clint's face. Clint took that for permission, and squirmed the tip of his tongue into Phil. Phil let out a long, hissed,

"Yes."

So Clint went all out, working his tongue in as far as he possibly could, lifting his head to mash his face into Phil's ass, until his chin was pressing into Phil's perineum and his tongue was as deep inside Phil's hole as he could get it.

"God. Yes." Phil held himself steady for a minute more, until it was getting to be too much to bear, then he lifted himself up and swung back around, straddling Clint facing forward again, his knees just above the strap that held Clint’s chest to the bed.

"Good," he said breathlessly, reaching for the tube of lube. He flipped it open one-handed, then dexterously squeezed some out onto his fingers, still using just his right hand. His left was on Clint's chin. He stroked Clint's lower lip with his thumb, then used a little pressure to indicate that Clint should open his mouth.

"Suck," he said, feeding Clint the head of his cock. "Just the head, lightly. Don't try to make me come." Clint blinked a slow blink that Phil knew was taking the place of a nod. Phil grabbed the headboard again with his clean hand, and reached around behind himself with his lubed fingers.

Clint nearly lost it. He moaned around the head of Phil's cock. 

"Yeah," Phil said, halfway to a groan, "I love it when you moan around my cock like that. I love hearing that."

Clint watched Phil's arm move as he fingered himself. It was so unbelievably erotic, knowing what Phil was doing, knowing that Phil had his fingers in his own ass while Clint was sucking his cock. Clint wondered if Phil was going to use a toy on himself, or maybe just get himself off and shoot down Clint's throat, or all over him while he was tied up. Clint moaned again, imagining seeing Phil's hand around his own cock, coming all over Clint's chest or face. He worked the head of Phil's cock with his lips and tongue, trying to go lightly, like Phil had told him. So he didn't use any suction, just held the head of Phil's cock in his mouth while he licked the head and the slit, trying to make it as good as he could without making it too good. 

"Yes, that's good," Phil said between gasps. Clint looked up at Phil's flushed face, the damp hair on his chest, the powerful thigh muscles twitching, and the arm that moved in a steady rhythm. Clint wondered what it would feel like to have those fingers working him open. Phil hadn't touched his ass yet, just his dick. Surely Phil would want to fuck him eventually? Maybe... maybe Phil didn't like ass fucking? Maybe he preferred blowjobs? Every Dom Clint had ever known had liked nailing his ass, though, so he was pretty sure it was a Dom thing. Clint tried to stop thinking about Phil fucking him because if he let his mind go there, even the cock ring wouldn’t stop him from coming. Clint looked up at Phil and tried to concentrate on his face instead, but what was showing on his face... the heavy-lidded desire as he looked down at Clint, at Clint's mouth on his cock. Phil's jaw was set, as if he was stopping himself from speaking or making noise. The arm that wrapped around behind him continued to move. 

It had been so goddamn long that Phil knew he needed to take his time with his own prep. He was going crazy with want, watching Clint suck him. Seeing Clint tied down, taking everything so beautifully. Seeing this strong, independent, forthright, smartass Sub giving it all up for him, not out of any fear of punishment or reprisal, but because he wanted to, because he so badly wanted to do anything that Phil asked of him. If Phil hadn't already been head-over-heels in love with Clint Barton, he would have fallen right this instant. 

Phil worked a third finger into himself, as carefully as he could. He didn't mind being a little sore tomorrow, but he did have a lot of meetings to sit through, and he didn't want to be too distracted by memories of what Clint looked like spread out under him. Phil carefully stayed away from his prostate, not needing any extra stimulation with Clint's mouth on his cock. He wanted to last more than a couple of minutes once they got to the main event, and speaking of which...

Phil pulled away from Clint's mouth, and dragged his fingers out of his ass. He backed up a little, steadying himself on his knees, and put one hand reassuringly on Clint's shoulder for a minute before using it to open the drawer in the bedside table and fish out a condom. Clint's eyes went wide. Phil smiled, and twisted around. He grabbed one of the towels off the foot rail of the bed and wiped the excess lube off his hands to make opening the foil packet easier. He heard Clint's gasp when he rolled the latex down over Clint's hard dick. Phil grabbed the bottle of lube and added a generous amount. He dropped the bottle and wiped his hands again. 

"Look at me," he said, unnecessarily, because Clint's eyes were wide and focused, watching his every movement. Phil backed up on his knees until his ass was positioned directly over Clint's dick. He lowered himself just enough to feel the nudge against his hole and held himself there with powerful thighs. Phil loved this part. Both giving and receiving, he loved the feeling of the first nudge of the head of his cock against a waiting hole, and what he was feeling now, Clint's dick nestled between his butt cheeks, the hot firmness pressing at his ass. He started to sink down, very slowly, just a little at a time. He loved this part, too.

Clint was very carefully not freaking out. His eyes were riveted to Phil's face, because if he looked... if he so much as glanced down at what he was feeling happening to his dick, he knew he'd come. So he looked at Phil's face, while Phil looked at his. While Phil was lowering himself, millimeter by millimeter, onto Clint's dick. Phil. On his dick. His dick. In Phil's ass. Clint felt the head slide in and saw Phil's face change as his ass clenched a little around the smaller girth of his shaft. Clint slowly, carefully, in a perfectly controlled fashion, let out the breath he realized he'd been holding for the past thirty seconds or so. The last of it came out with a quiet moan as Phil slipped down another half-inch. Clint stared into Phil's eyes. Stretched out and tied down on Phil's big, beautiful bed, so that the only thing he could move was his head, while Phil slowly, inexorably, sat on his dick, he stared straight into Phil's eyes. He had no idea what he was seeing there. It was something he'd never seen before, not in Phil's eyes, not in anyone else's either. There was a softness, a... longing. Clint had no idea what Phil could be longing for while he was taking Clint's dick up his ass. His ass, which was hot and tight around Clint's hard, aching dick. So very hot and so very tight. 

Clint could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he'd had his dick inside someone. Being a Sub meant he was pretty much always on the receiving end. Which was fine by him, he liked getting fucked and he loved sucking cock, and didn't mind too much how he got off so long as he eventually did. And most male Doms were pretty uptight about taking it up the ass themselves — Clint had only been with one who'd enjoyed it, and that was a short-lived relationship. From the look on Phil's face, he enjoyed it. A lot. 

Clint started to pant. Phil was nearly all the way down, just another inch and his butt would be on Clint's pelvis. Clint had no idea how long he'd be able to keep from coming, but he knew it wouldn't be long, not with Phil so hot and tight around him. Not with Phil looking like... like... like this was the most wonderful thing to happen to him this decade. Clint tried to think of something else to distract himself, tried to think about stringing his first bow or field-stripping his sniper rifle, but nothing worked. Phil sank down onto him completely, his ass snug against Clint’s groin, and let out a small sigh. Clint couldn't help but moan. It was a desperate, broken sound.

Phil shifted, settling, making sure Clint's dick was completely in him, or getting more comfortable. Clint didn't know which, it didn't really matter. He moaned again and closed his eyes. All he could do now was hang on for as long as he possibly could before starting to beg Phil to let him come. Come with his dick inside Phil. With Phil... riding him. Phil was moving. Sliding up a little, a little more, and then back down. Clint's eyes snapped back open.

"Yes. Good. Look at me. I want you to see me taking my pleasure on your dick, Clint. I want you to watch me riding you." Phil's words were coming out between harsh pants and he lifted himself up then slid back down, thigh muscles flexing. "I want you to see what I'm feeling with you inside me." On the next down stroke Phil let himself drop and Clint felt Phil's weight on the bulk of the butt plug in his ass. 

"Fuck. Fuck. Phil, I'm not going to last. I can't, I can't, Phil I can't."

Phil started to fuck himself harder and faster on Clint's dick. 

"Are you going to come for me, Clint? Are you going to come from me riding your dick?"

"Fuck, yes. Please, Phil. Please tell me I can come!"

Phil put one hand behind himself on Clint's thigh, needing the extra leverage, and the other on his own cock, hard and red and leaking from the stimulation in his ass. He fucked himself for two more hard strokes, adjusting his angle so that now Clint's dick was shoving past his prostrate on each stroke and he could feel his own need, hot and bright and ready to explode.

"Look at me, Clint. Look at me riding your dick and stroking myself. Look at me using your body for my pleasure. Come for me, Clint. Come with your dick inside me."

Clint keened, bucking as much as he was able to in the confines of the restraints, then tensed, and came. Phil fucked him through it, slamming himself down again and again on Clint's dick, stroking himself with hard, tight pulls, and throwing his head back and howling as he came on Clint's belly and chest.

Clint lay there, loose and gasping. Still staring at Phil. Watching as Phil seemed to return slowly to himself, watching as Phil took deep steadying breaths. Watching as Phil picked up the towel from where he had left it on the bed near Clint's side, and wiped his own cum off Clint's belly and chest. Watching as Phil put the towel back down, and then leaned forward to put his hands on either side of Clint's chest. Watching as Phil leaned forward, pressing his damp chest to Clint's. 

Phil saw with wonder how Clint's eyes never left his face. He lowered himself from his hands to his elbows, straddling Clint now on his elbows and knees. Clint's softening dick slipped out of his ass and he regretted the loss, but would deal with that later. Now there was something much more important he needed to do. Phil hovered, his face above Clint's, looking down into the eyes that hadn't left his for an instant, even in the throes of orgasm. 

Phil placed a soft, gentle kiss on Clint's left cheek.

"Kissing is so very intimate," Phil said, his voice rough. He kissed Clint's other cheek with soft, dry lips.

"As intimate as fucking." Phil paused, looking into Clint's eyes again, and then captured Clint's upper lip for a moment between his.

"I won't fuck you until you're truly mine,” Phil said, and then took Clint's lower lip between his.

"I told myself I wouldn't kiss you, either." Phil moved his head slightly, kissing Clint's forehead, before moving back so that he could look into Clint's eyes again.

"Because I knew that if I let myself taste your mouth, I'd never be able to let you go."

Phil kissed him. Softly at first, but full on the lips. Then again, and again. 

Clint felt Phil's tongue press past his teeth and he moaned and opened his mouth, welcoming, giving, acquiescing, laying himself bare. Phil's tongue invaded his mouth, twisting around his tongue and sucking, prodding, exploring, demanding. Clint felt like he was being fucked. Like Phil was taking him, using him yet again. Clint moaned, and kissed back.

Phil moved his arms so that they were bracketing Clint's head. His hands were in Clint's hair, holding hard, holding steady, holding still, holding safe. Clint moaned into Phil's mouth, wanting to be able to shout, ‘Take me, take me, take me. I'm yours. I'm yours forever.’

Except that he couldn't speak, couldn't move. Couldn't wrap his arms around Phil and clutch him close. He pulled against the restraints, not to get free of them but to feel them, to feel Phil's leather cuffs and straps around his wrists and ankles and waist and chest, to feel Phil's care for him. To feel safe.

Safe when Phil's tongue in his mouth was tearing him apart, was disassembling him, bit-by-bit. He moaned, and Phil moaned back.

‘Mine. Mine. My Sub, mine!’ Phil's brain was chanting at him again. Having Clint under him, restrained, as he kissed him, took his mouth, tasted him, learned him, became part of him... Phil tightened his grip in Clint's hair, tore his mouth away from Clint's, and looked into his eyes once more. 

They were both panting for breath. Inches apart, breathing each other's air. The phrase 'foregone conclusion' drifted through Phil's head, and he thought back to how sure Nick Fury had seemed, days ago, about how Clint felt. Phil clenched his teeth tightly together to stop himself from saying 'I love you.’

Instead, he began to move. He peeled himself off Clint's body. He sat up, supporting himself on shaky legs. He unfastened the belt around Clint's chest. He leaned over and unhooked the strap from the side of the bed. He reached up and undid the ropes that tied Clint's arms.

"Move slowly," he warned. "You don't want to get a cramp." 

Moving slowly himself, Phil crawled down Clint's body. He released the carabineers at Clint's waist, unbuckled the belt, unhooked the strap. He carefully peeled off the condom then picked up the towel and wiped Clint clean. He reached between Clint's legs and grasped the butt plug.

"Relax," he said, and pulled gently. There was a tiny bit of resistance before it slid out. He balled the butt plug into the towel with the condom and tossed it into a corner of the room. He moved to the foot of the bed and untied the ropes that bound Clint's ankles to the foot-board, and then unbuckled the cuffs. He dropped everything over the side of the bed. He moved back up.

Phil cupped Clint's cheek in one hand.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm... I'm good,” Clint said with a blindingly bright smile.

“You’re better than good,” Phil said, and had to stop himself from kissing Clint again, and then clenched his teeth once more to prevent 'I love you' from escaping. He took one of Clint's hands in his and unbuckled the cuff. 

"Give me your other arm." Clint did, slowly. Phil couldn't tell if it was reluctance, or because his muscles were stiff from the strain of the restraints. Phil unbuckled the second cuff and dropped both over the side of the bed, then gently rubbed Clint's wrists. He stopped himself from asking a second time. 

Instead, he reached over and snagged the bottle of Gatorade from the bedside table.

"Sit up." 

Phil uncapped the bottle while Clint levered himself into a sitting position, then handed it to him.

Clint drank deeply, draining almost half the bottle before offering it to Phil. Phil smiled. He took it and drank half of what was left before handing the bottle back to Clint. Clint put his hand out, and it said something about Phil's state of mind that it took him a moment to realize that Clint was asking for the cap to the bottle. Phil handed it over. Clint capped the bottle and put it on the nightstand on 'his' side of the bed. 

A wave of affection and possessiveness and 'happily-ever-after' rolled through Phil. 

"Get under the covers, I'll be right back."

Phil padded through the apartment, locking up and turning out the lights on autopilot. His brain was churning with thoughts and plans and very definite ideas about what he should and shouldn't do and what he should and shouldn't say... He came back into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. He made a mental note to ask Clint if he preferred to sleep with the bedroom door open or closed. He kicked the pile of leather straps and cuffs under the bed so that they wouldn't trip on them in the morning. He climbed under the covers. 

Clint was lying on his back, arms by his sides, looking up at the white ceiling of Phil's bedroom. He was coming down from what was possibly the best sex of his life, and at the same time trying to process what Phil had said, right before he kissed him. 'Because I knew, that if I let myself taste your mouth, I'd never be able to let you go.' Phil slid into bed beside him and propped himself up on one elbow. He put one arm possessively across Clint's chest.

"Clint, I need to know that you're okay."

It was Phil's velvet-over-steel voice, with a tinge of the genuine concern that Clint had started to recognize a year or two ago, on the comms, when he was hurt on a mission. Clint pulled himself together enough to smile reassuringly up into Phil's face. What he meant to say was 'I'm fine, sir,' what came out when he opened his mouth was,

"I'm yours, sir.” Phil closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them again. "Sorry…” Clint said, “I’m sorry sir. I'm fine. Better than fine. Good. Great. That was... incredible."

"Yes," Phil said, stroking Clint's cheek with the tip of one finger, "It was." Phil squashed the 'I love you' yet again. Instead,

"I should wait until tomorrow morning to tell you this, but... Clint, I want you to be my Submissive. I'm going to offer you my collar."

Clint's eyes went wide with wonder and one of his hands came up, fluttering uncertainly near Phil's shoulder. Phil inclined his chin in a slight nod, and Clint wrapped his arm around Phil, pulling him close and hanging on for dear life.

"Oh, Phil. Thank you. Thank you, sir. I... I want that so much, sir. I'll be good, so good for you, I promise. I... I... Thank you, sir."

Phil kissed the side of Clint's face, returning the tight grip with his own arm across Clint's chest.

"Yes," he murmured. "Yes. It's okay. It's okay."

Eventually Phil lifted his head and looked into Clint's bright eyes.

"We'll talk about it more in the morning, okay?"

"Yes, sir,” Clint said, smiling so widely that Phil thought his face might split.

"Good. Now go to sleep."

"Yes, sir,” Clint said, intending, as he had on the first night that he had slept with Phil, to pay no attention whatsoever to the instruction.

Phil snuggled down, one arm and one leg thrown over Clint. Over his Sub. Phil tucked his face into Clint's shoulder. 

"I am very much looking forward to having you here like this every night," he murmured into Clint's warm shoulder, and fell asleep.

Clint's mind was churning. Phil wanted him! Phil was going to offer him his collar! He was going to be Phil's Sub! Phil was going to fuck him! And kiss him again! Clint was sure that sleep was a million miles away, but his body knew better. Within five minutes, he was snoring.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint was sitting in his usual spot on the sofa for their 'morning after debrief.' Breakfast had been quiet and subdued after Clint had tried to bombard Phil with questions (starting with ‘Did you really mean it…’) and Phil had told him a little sharply that they would talk after breakfast, as usual.

"Clint, I'm not angry with you. We have some very important things to discuss this morning and I didn't want to do it around toast crumbs."

"Yes, sir." Clint looked up, still contrite.

"Okay, how about we start the way we usually do,” Phil said with a soft, reassuring smile. “Tell me what you liked least about what we did together last night."

"Not being able to touch you while you were kissing me," Clint answered immediately, without having to think about it.

"I can understand that. And what did you like best?"

"When you told me you wanted me to be your Sub."

"Apart from that."

"Um... you kissing me, I guess."

"You guess?"

"I loved everything, okay, Phil? I love everything you do to me. Even when it's hard, even when it hurts. When you were tying me down I was fucking terrified, but at the same time I felt the most safe and cared for that I've ever felt in my entire life, because it was you, Phil. I loved everything you did to me last night." Clint closed his mouth at the end of his outburst, wanting to look down, to hide, but holding Phil's eyes instead.

"Okay.” Phil’s voice was gentle. He took a long slow breath, then said, “What I liked least was taking the butt plug out, at the end. You looked so happy and comfortable, I didn't want to hurt you. What I liked most was kissing you. And yes, Clint. I meant it when I said I want you to be my Submissive. I meant it when I said I want you to wear my collar. I meant it with all my heart. I want you to be mine, Clint." Phil's voice was soft and his eyes were impossibly bright as they stared into Clint's.

Clint slipped off the sofa and onto his knees. Looking up at Phil, he said,

"I... um.. Of my own free will... I..." Clint was desperately trying to remember the traditional words as they stumbled out of his mouth. He'd only ever said them once before, and he'd heard them in movies a couple of times, but he couldn't remember...

Phil reached out and put a finger to Clint's lips.

"We're not quite there yet, Clint. Come here." Phil spread his knees and urged Clint forward, between them, the way he'd knelt that first morning in Phil's office. The way he'd knelt naked last night. ‘Where he belongs,’ Phil thought, and this time his heart was full of love and hope and promise.

"You have some idea, now, of what I like. Of what I will want from you. Of how hard I'll push you. I'm not going to be any easier on you once you're wearing my collar. You need to know that. If anything, I'll push you even harder. I'll want to lay you bare, Clint, crack you wide open and reach inside up to my elbows. I'll make you crumble in my hands, in as many ways as I can think of. Are you willing to give me that?" 

"I'm yours, sir," was the only reply Clint had, and the truest one. It seemed to satisfy Phil. 

"But it won't be every night, or even every week. It will only be when things at work are quiet, between missions, like now. When I'm planning an operation, all you'll get, possibly for weeks on end, is my hand on your dick while you suck my cock. Can you live with that?"

"Yes, sir."

"And during missions, of course, there will probably be nothing at all."

"During missions sir, your voice in my ear is everything I'll ever want, or need."

Phil smiled at that. 

"Okay then. Do you have any questions? Anything that isn't clear, anything you want to know about how this will work between us?"

Clint tried hard not to shake. Phil could see something was wrong, and slid his hand though Clint's hair, soothingly.

"Just one, sir. But it's stupid."

"I'm sure it's not."

"It is. I... last night, just before we went to sleep, you said... you said that you were looking forward to sleeping with me every night. Did... does that mean... Sir, do you want me to live here, with you?"

If Phil was startled or surprised by the question, he didn't show it. He kept carding his hand through Clint's hair as he answered.

"Yes, Clint. That's what I want. Is that going to be a problem for you?"

"No, sir. No, not at all. I just... I wasn't sure if you'd maybe want me to still live on base and just come home with you when you wanted..." Clint trailed off.

"You're not a rifle that I plan to take out and use and then clean and put away in the armory, Clint. You're going to be mine. Completely. That means you'll live here with me, so that I can take proper care of you. I'll clear space for you in the bureau and closet. We'll work out sharing household chores and so on once we get settled into a routine that works. I won't expect you to do all the cooking or cleaning, or serve me all the time — that wouldn't be fair, you have a demanding job, just like I do. We'll work something out. Is that... does that answer your question?" As Phil spoke he combed his fingers slowly through Clint’s hair, looking forward to quiet nights at home with his Sub by his side.

"Yes, sir. Thank you sir."

"Do you have any others?"

"I guess, just... when?"

"When am I going to collar you?"

"Yes." Clint squeezed the syllable out around a lump in his throat. Phil was going to collar him. He was going to belong to Phil, and wear his collar.

"Here's the part you're probably not going to like very much. It won't be today. The last three days have been incredibly intense for both of us. I think we could both use a little bit of time and distance, just to make absolutely sure -“

"I am sure, sir! I - " Clint was frantic.

"Clint!" Phil's voice was the sharpest Clint had heard outside of a fubared mission, and Phil's hand tightened painfully in his hair. "Clint, I'm not going to change my mind. I want you to be mine. I want to collar you. But I need to know that you are absolutely, completely sure it's what you want. Twenty-four hours. That's all. We won't see each other for the rest of the day today, unless something comes up at work, and we won't see each other tonight. If tomorrow morning, you're still sure that you want to belong to me, come to my office and tell me that. And I'll bring you home tomorrow night, and formally offer you my collar then."

"Sir - " Clint began, with a wheedle and whine in his tone that Phil knew all too well.

"Don't try to push me on this, Clint. I don't want to be angry with you."

"Yes, sir." Clint took a deep breath.

"Show me that you can do this for me, Clint," Phil said, and his tone was the velvet-over-steel that made Clint's stomach flutter. 

"Yes, sir. I will sir. Just, sir? Phil... promise me you won't change your mind, please?"

"I won't change my mind, Clint. I swear it. If you come to me tomorrow, and tell me it's what you want, I will put my collar on you, I promise."

"Okay." Clint nodded, "Okay."

"Okay." Phil smiled. "Get up, time to go to work." 

Clint shuffled back and rose from his knees. He waited for Phil to do his last-minute departure things (set the alarm, put his keys and phone in his pocket, put his suit jacket on) before following him down the short hallway to the front door. Just before they got there, Phil whirled on Clint and grabbed him, pushing him up against the wall and mashing their mouths together. Phil kissed him like a drowning man clutching at a life-ring, with hunger and desperation and passion and longing and fervor. After a stunned second, Clint put his arms around Phil and kissed back. 

There was give-and-take in this kiss, unlike the one-sided affair from last night. Clint pushed his tongue into Phil's mouth and Phil let him, groaning and pushing back, tongues battling as Phil put one hand in Clint's hair and the other on his bicep. Clint pressed closer, so that they were touching from chest to knees, and kissed, and kissed, and kissed. 

Finally Phil pulled away, breaking off the kiss and stepping back out of Clint's grasp. Clint stared at Phil's mouth, still open and panting, and his now slightly rumpled suit. He reached out to straighten Phil's tie.

"What was that about?" Clint asked as Phil batted his hand away gently, and smoothed down his tie and lapels himself.

"It was in case you change your mind," Phil said, fighting the urge to turn his back or drop his eyes. Clint deserved the same brutal honesty that Phil demanded of him.

"So not going to happen."

"Okay. Let's go to work."

~~~~~~

"So we're agreed, then? Termination, without prejudice, at end-of-day today. With a full surveillance implementation for the next three months, to make sure he doesn’t go rogue." Director Fury frowned at the folder in front of him as he pronounced Jensen's sentence.

"Yes, sir. I'll send the tech team to his apartment now, so that they'll have all their gear set up and be out by the time he gets home, and I'll coordinate the surveillance roster." Phil didn’t relish the extra tasks in an already busy day, but he wanted to handle this personally.

"Give first refusal on the surveillance detail to anyone he assaulted or took advantage of. If any of them want the chance to giggle at him in his Bugs Bunny boxer shorts, they are welcome to. It's the least we can do."

"Yes, sir,” said Phil. Nick Fury had always had a very odd sense of humor.

"Do you want to come with me when I visit him with a couple of security personnel at 5pm?" 

"I'd love to, sir, but I've got a very busy day ahead. I would however appreciate being given the assignment if the surveillance on Jensen goes... badly." Meaning if Jensen decided to express his anger at being fired by turning on SHIELD staff or selling SHIELD secrets to their enemies. Phil still hadn’t ruled out paying Jensen a personal visit to make him pay for assaulting Clint, but if Jensen went rogue and was marked for elimination, then Phil wanted to oversee that job personally as well.

"If the stain needs to be erased, it's yours. Or yours and Barton's, I expect. Speaking of your archer, have you made any progress on your end of our deal?" 

"I have to admit, sir, you were right about how he feels. We've, err... been spending some time together." Phil absolutely did not blush.

"And am I to take it that's been going well?"

"I'm hopeful that you'll find a set of HR-735 forms on your desk Monday morning, sir,” Phil said with a small, satisfied smile.

"I'm very glad to hear that, Cheese. You deserve to be happy."

"I don't know about that, Nick. But Barton deserves to be taken care of a hell of a lot better than he ever has before, so I'm going to do my best."

"Good."

~~~~~~

Clint Barton spent half the day on his normal routine of training and paperwork, and the other half cleaning his quarters and packing. Arriving at SHIELD Headquarters that morning, he and Phil had split off from each other, Phil heading for his office and Clint heading to the range. Clint did his normal set of practice sessions and gym training, but then at lunchtime he grabbed a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of Gatorade and headed to his quarters. The first thing he did was pile every single piece of clothing he owned on the bed. Then he went through everything, throwing out socks with no heels and underwear with no elastic left. He tossed t-shirts that were practically see-through and the pair of jeans that he'd been wearing the day he first walked through the door of SHIELD headquarters. They didn't fit his thighs any more, he'd put on so much muscle in the last four years.

He put all his uniforms to one side, and his civilian clothes to the other. The civvie pile was depressingly small. Three pairs of jeans, only one of which was in decent shape, a half-dozen t-shirts in various stages of wear, two pairs of sweatpants, a ratty old purple hooded sweatshirt, and the socks and underwear that had made the cull. Everything else he 'owned' was SHIELD-issued uniform pieces and tactical gear. He stuffed his 'nice' jeans, the t-shirts, socks, and underwear in a laundry bag, along with his uniforms, and double-timed it down to the Laundry. 

"Heading out on an op?" asked the guy who took his laundry bag asked as he handed it over.

"Nope, just cleaning up after the last one."

"Any blood, other bodily fluids, or chemical or biological contaminants we should know about?"

"Nope. Just good clean dirt and sweat."

"Glad to hear it. You can pick this stuff up first thing tomorrow morning."

"Great, thanks."

Clint headed back to his quarters and spent an hour packing the books and papers he wanted or needed to keep into a box, and sorting everything else into "donate" and "garbage" piles. 

'Hell,' he thought, 'if Phil changes his mind, at least I'll have gotten a clean bunk out of it.' His stomach clenched at the idea of Phil changing his mind, and he talked himself down by remembering Phil's words, 'I won't change my mind, Clint. I swear it. If you come to me tomorrow, and tell me it's what you want, I will put my collar on you, I promise.' Clint also remembered the desperate ferocity of the kiss as they were leaving Phil's apartment. 

He stuffed the 'donate' pile into a bag and slung it over his shoulder. Grabbing his wallet and his non-SHIELD ID, he headed out to the nearest shopping mall. Having dropped the bag in one of the big donation bins at the mall, he found a department store for packages of socks and underwear, and a couple of new t-shirts, then a specialty shop for jeans. It took a while, a very helpful saleswoman, and trying on a dozen pairs to find something that fit him well. Apparently wanting one's jeans to actually sit at one's waist, and not be able to also fit a rocket launcher down the leg was unusual these days. After the first couple of pairs, Clint noticed that the ones the saleswoman handed him all had words like "Traditional" or "Classic Cut" on the labels. She was nice, though, and didn't roll her eyes when he insisted on doing lunges in the pairs that fit best to make sure he could move in them. 

"I need to be able to move at work," he explained.

"Oh, what do you do?"

"I work in security," he said, being well-versed in 'Talking to Civilians 101'. 

"Oh, that's interesting. I didn't think Subs were allowed to do that kind of work." Clint felt the tips of his ears going a little pink and carefully didn't grit his teeth. He wished that his looks and his build didn't make it so obvious that he was a Sub.

"I, uh... have a specialized skill-set."

"Oh, what's that?"

"I'm not allowed to talk about it, sorry." He grinned at her, then. It wasn't her fault — SHIELD was far more progressive about employing Subs than pretty much everywhere else. It was true that most security-type jobs, and especially the military, were closed to Subs.

Not wanting to go through this exercise again any time soon, Clint bought three pairs of the best-fitting jeans, two pairs in black and one in blue. He made the saleswoman's quota for the week, and she burbled happily at him.

"So, are you shopping for a special occasion?" she asked as she rang up his purchase.

Since he couldn't bring himself to say, ‘Yeah, I'm moving in with my Dom, who's going to be collaring me tomorrow night,’ to a complete stranger, he said,

"No, not really. I was, uh... packing to move to my new apartment, and I realized that my jeans were all really old, so I though I'd get some new ones."

"Good idea!" she said brightly, handing him the bag. "Enjoy your new jeans and your new place."

"I will, thanks for all your help."

After that, Clint wanted a beer, but made do with some half way decent Thai food from the mall's food court instead. He hesitated passing a convenience store on his way back to SHIELD. He wasn't a big drinker, one beer, maybe two at the most, was all he ever had. He hated what alcohol did to his coordination: fucked it up, badly. He felt stupid just buying two bottles, though, and he didn't like drinking beer out of cans. 

'I know, I'll get a six-pack and then I can give the rest to Bukowski, or leave it in the common-room fridge or something.'

Loaded down with his purchases he made it back to his quarters. He sorted through everything, packing most of the new stuff into his large duffle bag, but leaving out one pair of the new black jeans. He tossed all the packaging in the trash, but kept the large sturdy bag from the jeans store.

'It'll probably come in handy for little things I forget until the last minute,' he thought.

All that done, he cracked open a beer and switched on his SHIELD-issue laptop. He checked his email, and then his and Phil's schedules for the next day (both of them were free all morning, Phil had meetings in the early afternoon). Then he Googled "Traditional collaring vows" and spent the next ten minutes clicking around a depressing variety of garish websites trying to sell him everything from collars to silk boxer shorts, looking for the information he actually wanted. He finally found a site with a bunch of different versions of the traditional and modern words. Clint scrolled down until he found the one he was looking for. Phil had said he was a traditional Dom, with modern views on certain things. Clint was willing to bet that collaring vows weren't one of the things Phil was modern about.

Clint read the words over and over, memorizing them. He closed his eyes and said them in his head, then checked the screen to make sure he’d gotten them right. He took a swig of his beer and put the bottle back down on the desk by the laptop. He closed his eyes again, this time seeing himself on his knees in front of Phil. He said the words aloud, softly. Getting a feel for them. 

'Yeah,' he said to himself. 'Yeah, I can do that.'

When Clint opened his eyes he noticed a small ad for collars in the lower corner of the screen and out of curiosity, he clicked on it. He wondered what kind of collar Phil would have for him to wear. Something simple and utilitarian, no doubt. Black leather, like his cuffs, or maybe brown, like the wood and furnishings of his apartment. It didn't matter too much to Clint, he would wear whatever Coulson gave him to wear, happily. It would be Phil's collar, that was what was important.

He spent an hour scrolling through the various pictures online, looking at everything from narrow pink diamond-encrusted collars, to three-inch black leather monstrosities, designed to ‘Make sure your sub knows his or her place,’ according to the ad. Clint looked curiously at the all-metal collars, but knew that for safety reasons he could never wear anything like that. Even the simplest leather collar he'd have to take off for some missions, he knew. Phil would tell him how to handle that, he was sure. 

Clint drained the last of his beer. Looked at the clock in the corner of the laptop screen. He thought about wandering down to the common room with the rest of the beer and handing it out to whoever was there, but he didn't really want to see or talk to anyone tonight. He opened a second bottle. It'd help him sleep, and he fully expected to need the help. Bed sounded good though, even if he didn't think he'd be able to sleep right away. He could at least lay down and stretch out and be moderately comfortable while thoughts were spinning around in his head.

Clint stripped out of his clothes and grinned, stuffing them in the plastic bag he'd kept, which had just officially become his dirty laundry bag. He lay down on his bunk and balanced the beer bottle on his breastbone. He wondered what living with Phil would be like. He thought about kneeling, naked, between Phil's spread knees. He loved that, loved the feeling of safety and security that it gave him. Phil was going to collar him. Clint thought about the other half of the vows, the ones he'd read, but not memorized. He didn't know if they were the words Phil would use, or if he had his own. 'To dominate, protect, and cherish' the vows said. Clint wasn't really sure what 'cherish' meant, but maybe... maybe it meant that look in Phil's eyes, the one he didn't understand, when Phil looked at him sometimes. Maybe that was Phil 'cherishing' him. If that's what it meant, Clint liked it. 

He finished his beer, put the bottle down under the bed where he wouldn't kick it over in the morning, and turned off the light. This was the first time he'd slept alone in four days. He curled up into a tight ball, pulled the covers over himself, and remembered the feeling of Phil spooning around behind him, Phil's warmth and soft skin at his back.

'I'm looking forward to having you here like this every night,' Phil had said, cuddled up close to his back in the big, beautiful bed with the soft sheets and the firm mattress. And to think that Clint had thought his little bunk and a 12-by-20 room of his own was the height of luxury, when he first joined SHIELD four years ago. Clint thought of Phil. Phil holding him, Phil stroking him, Phil kissing him, Phil smiling at him. 

His dick twitched and started to fill. Clint thought about reaching down and touching himself, thinking about Phil, the way he had done so many times in the past. But Phil had said that he wasn't allowed to touch himself. That Phil was the one to decide when he got to come. Of course, that didn't really apply yet. He wasn't wearing Phil's collar. He really should jerk off now, tonight, one last time before he wasn't allowed to choose for himself any more. But it felt wrong. He remembered Phil cupping his dick in one hand and saying,

'This would also become mine. You may touch it to piss and to wash, but not for pleasure. Pleasure comes from me.'

Even though he didn't technically belong to Phil yet, in his heart, he already did. He'd given himself to Phil last night, when Phil had held him close and asked if he was okay, and he'd said 'I'm yours, sir,' instead of 'I'm fine.' So it felt wrong to break one of Phil's rules, even tonight, on his last night of being a free, uncollared Sub. Besides, he might as well get used to falling asleep with a hard-on. Phil wouldn't always be around or inclined to let him or make him come whenever he wanted to. 

'It's a small price to pay for what I'm getting in return,' Clint thought, as he went back to remembering the gentle touches and the warmth at his back of Phil spooned around him. 'A very small price to pay.'

Clint stuck both of his hands under his pillow, and fell asleep.

~~~~~~

Phil Coulson had had a very busy day. Between arranging for the surveillance on Jensen and contacting the people (the ones he knew about, anyway) who'd been assaulted or abused by the man to a) tell them that Jensen was being dismissed, so they didn't have to worry about him any more; b) make sure they weren't afraid of reprisals, and inform and reassure them about the surveillance; c) swear them to secrecy about a) and b); and d) find out if they wanted in on the surveillance detail, as per Fury's orders; he spent just about every hour of Thursday on the phone or in closed-door meetings.

'It's a good thing Barton isn't coming over tonight, I'd be too damn tired to do anything with him,' Phil thought. 

All day, however, he kept a pad of paper close at hand and was writing notes, reminders, and lists to himself about preparations for the next evening.

'Assuming Barton comes to me tomorrow, and says he's sure, that is.' Phil reassured himself once more that Clint wasn't going to change his mind, and forced his thoughts back to the task at hand. Technically, he should be talking to Barton about Jensen as well, but he had a pretty good idea of how Clint felt, and waiting until tomorrow to tell him wasn't going to be a problem.

It was well after six when Phil finally left his office, checking his list of notes one last time to make sure there weren't any errands he wouldn't be able to do tomorrow evening. Tomorrow, he'd leave work early, no matter what.

Home at his apartment with a sack of Chinese take-out, he stripped off his suit and changed into sweats and a t-shirt. He ate quickly, going over his lists again, and then set to work. Laundry was the first priority, they'd been going through clean sheets at an alarming rate. He'd probably need to buy a couple more sets, now that he was going to be having messy (exuberant, fantastic, exhilarating) sex on a regular basis again. He stripped the bed, put all the sheets in the machine, and made it up with the last clean set from the linen cupboard. Then he inventoried various supplies in the bathroom, making lists of what to purchase tomorrow evening. 

Next he checked the fridge and cupboards and made a grocery list, working from memories of what Clint had said he liked to eat, and what would make quick and easy meals and snacks over the weekend. Phil didn't mind living on SHIELD cafeteria fare and take-out most of the time, but there were certain times that having a delivery person arrive was less than convenient, and if everything went according to plan, this weekend was going to be one of those times. 

Phil knew exactly what he wanted to do with Clint when he arrived on Friday night. He had plans for before collaring his Sub, and immediately after. Had plans for the next morning, and the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday. Sunday evening, he was planning to leave up to Clint. 

He read his lists, made adjustments. Made a list of Friday's errands and then put them in the most efficient order, based on geography. Considered borrowing a SHIELD car for the weekend, but decided that taxis would be more convenient than trying to find parking. Looked at his lists and notes again. Nodded to himself, satisfied. 

The washing machine chimed and he got up to move the load to the dryer. On his way back to the sofa, he stopped at the section of bookshelf that served as a liquor cabinet and poured himself a small scotch from the bottle that Nick had given him for his last birthday. ‘Clint's birthday is in June,’ Phil thought as he sipped his drink, and it warmed him to think of choosing a gift and taking his Sub out to dinner. It was going to be so nice to have a Sub to care for again. Someone to pet and pamper sometimes, someone to be responsible for. He was responsible for his assets at work, of course, and for his team every time he organized an op, that was why Doms made such good handlers. But it wasn't the same, it wasn't anything like having a Sub of his own to take care of. If Clint was here right now, he'd be sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, resting his head against Phil's knee, where Phil could stroke Clint's face and run his fingers through Clint's hair. 

He had many evenings like that to look forward to, assuming Clint didn't change his mind.

'He's not going to,' Phil told himself sternly. 'The twenty-four hour break was just to make absolutely sure. Just to give us both a little space, a little time. He isn't going to change his mind.' Phil hoped he was right. He finished his drink with a sigh.

'Well, if nothing else, this has certainly shown me that I was kidding myself to think I could be content without a Sub. If this doesn't work out, I'm going to have to do something about it some other way.' The thought made him deeply unhappy. He wanted Clint. Was in love with Clint. 'He won't change his mind. He'll be on his knees in my office first thing tomorrow morning... I hope.' 

To prove to himself that he wasn't worried about Clint changing his mind, he went into the bedroom and opened the drawers of his dresser, trying to figure out how best to clear out a couple for Clint's clothes. The top two drawers held socks, underwear, sweats, t-shirts, and pajamas. He left those be. The bottom four held all his casual clothes, jeans, chinos, Henleys, more t-shirts, and a couple of sweaters. He consolidated the four drawers into two by the simple method of grabbing a large plastic bag and putting everything he hadn't worn in the past year into it. He tossed the bag into the bottom of the linen closet.

'If I don't miss any of that stuff in the next few months, I'll drop it into a donation bin,' he thought.

That chore done, he looked around the room one last time, trying to think of anything else he needed to do, anything he hadn't accounted for. There wasn't anything. He padded back into the living room, poured himself a second, very small, scotch, and locked up for the night before heading back to the bedroom and putting his drink on the bedside table. It occurred to him that he should clear out the other bedside table for Clint. He went back to the living room, added 'bedside table' to his 'To Do' list, and took the notepad with him back to the bedroom. It joined his scotch on the bedside table. He shucked off the sweatpants he was wearing, but kept his boxers and t-shirt on. 

He climbed into bed and leaned back against the pillows, picking up his glass and sipping his drink slowly. He went over his plans again in his mind, picturing Clint kneeling naked, waiting for him. Picturing Clint wearing his collar. Picturing Clint under him, as Phil fucked him for the first time. Picturing Clint with his back covered in whip marks. Phil's cock stirred in his boxers.

'None of that tonight,' thought Phil. 'It's going to be hard enough to get it up as often as I'll want to over the weekend without whacking off tonight.' 

Phil finished his drink, put the glass on the night table, and turned off the light. He lay back with his hands behind his head, desperately missing Clint's warm form in the bed beside him to cuddle up to. 

'Tomorrow,' thought Phil, smiling a little to himself in the darkness. 'And the night after that, and the night after that... for... for a long, long time. I hope. A very long time...' Phil sighed, rolled over, and went to sleep.

~~~~~~

Clint woke up early on Friday morning from a fitful night's sleep. He looked morosely at the two empty beer bottles. He drank so little and so seldom that two beers before bed had left him dehydrated and with a mild headache. Not to mention the fact that his mouth tasted like moldy cheese. He shook his head as he climbed out of bed and downed two large glasses of water. He looked at the time, and decided to go for a nice long run. Phil wouldn't be in the office until 8:30 or 9:00am, so Clint had a couple of hours to kill before going to see him.

He pulled on sweats and running gear, clipped his SHIELD ID badge into the pocket of a windbreaker, and headed out. He pushed himself hard, like he usually did, and after the first couple of miles his body loosened up and that let his head loosen up too. He ran fluidly and easily, his feet eating up the pavement as the city woke up around him. He passed garbage trucks and dog walkers and newspaper delivery kids and shopkeepers opening up their premises for the day. He liked the familiarity of the city around him, the streets he knew, even if he didn't really live as a New Yorker. 

'Maybe now, I will,' he thought as he ran, picturing getting to know the pizza delivery boy and the girl behind the counter at the Chinese take-out place closest to Phil's apartment. He'd know what day to put out the trash and maybe even help shovel the building's walk after a snow storm. He was going to have a home. With Phil. He couldn't wrap his mind around the concept, not really. His bunk at SHIELD had been the place he'd lived the longest since his parents died, unless you counted the circus, which he didn't, because they were always on the move. 

Clint's route took him back toward Headquarters at the end of a satisfying ten-mile loop. He went straight to the Laundry and picked up his clean clothes before heading back up to his quarters.

He was taking the stairs between the third and fourth floors two-at-a-time when he recognized the figure coming down from Five.

“Hey, Barton, have you heard the news?”

“No time to stop and gossip, Tyler. I’ve got a… uh… thing.”

“You’ll want to hear this: Jensen got the boot yesterday.”

It was one of the few things Tyler could have said to make Clint stop in his tracks. 

“You sure?”

“Yep. I don’t have any details, but Sanjit was working late and he saw Fury and two security guys escort him out of the building with a box in his arms. And so I checked the employee database, and sure enough he’s listed as a ‘former’ Level 5 Agent.”

“Huh,” was Clint’s only external reaction. Inside, he was feeling a warm glow and remembering Coulson saying ‘I'm going to make sure he never hurts you again, Clint. I swear it.’

“Anyway, just thought you’d want to know that that asshole isn’t going to be fucking with you again.”

“Yeah, thanks Tyler, thanks a lot.” Clint smacked Tyler on the shoulder as they passed each other, and Clint headed for his quarters.

He peeled off his running clothes and stuffed them into his dirty laundry bag, then headed into his tiny bathroom for a shower. He stopped for a minute to look at the marks on his chest. The purple welts were just starting to fade to yellow, but were still very clearly visible and a little tender to the touch. He couldn't see the marks on his back very well, but he was pretty sure that the lighter marks from the flogger were almost gone, and the two welts from Phil's whip on his back were probably identical to the ones on his chest.

He climbed into the shower and washed quickly but thoroughly, even though he planned to shower again later this afternoon, before heading to Phil's apartment.

'Assuming, of course, that he hasn't changed his mind.' Clint's stomach clenched at the thought. He'd managed to push that particular worry out of his mind all morning so far, but now, as he toweled off and started to get dressed, he couldn't help but wonder.

'He promised. Phil Coulson doesn't break his promises. He promised. It's gonna be fine.' 

Clint quashed his nerves as he pulled clean clothes out of the laundry bag. He packed most of them straight into his duffle, leaving out one clean uniform and an extra t-shirt. Exactly like he'd done on Monday, when he'd started this whole thing by going to Phil's office and dropping to his knees, he dressed carefully in his newest uniform, and then checked himself in the mirror. He looked... okay. And nervous. He tried a not-nervous smile in the mirror and it came out as a grimace. He sighed. Looked at the clock: 8:45. He flipped open his laptop and switched it on. Checked Coulson's meeting schedule again. He was still marked as available this morning, and only had one meeting in the early afternoon. Clint paced his room for five minutes, and then said 'Fuck it,' quietly, and left.

~~~~~~

Phil looked up at the distinctive 'rat-a-tat-tat' on his office door. His stomach clenched with nerves, which he tried in vain to quash.

"Come in," he called. He forced his body to be still, and show nothing but the smallest of smiles on his face. The door opened and Clint Barton came in.

"Uh, sir, can I..." Clint gestured at the door handle.

"Go ahead and lock the door, Barton," Phil said. He took a deep breath, trying to do it slowly enough that it wasn’t obvious.

Barton... Clint didn't say anything else. He strode across the room, around Phil's desk, and dropped gracefully to his knees beside Phil's chair. Phil pushed his chair back from his desk and swiveled it, then spread his knees and slid forward so that his legs were bracketing Clint's wide shoulders, the way they did when Clint was kneeling naked for him in his living room. 

Clint looked up, his eyes impossibly bright, and took a breath.

"Sir," he said, his voice strong and steady, "I would be honored if you would take me to be your Submissive."

Phil felt like his heart would burst with joy. He reached out and slid one hand into Clint's hair, gripping firmly.

"It would be my privilege to be your Dominant, Clint."

Phil could see the relief in Clint's eyes and a joy that mirrored his own. Clint smiled then, a big, bright, happy smile that was beautiful to see, and Phil returned a small smile of his own. He cupped Clint's jaw with his other hand and stroked along Clint's cheekbone with his thumb. He knew he was staring stupidly into Clint's eyes, but he couldn't seem to stop.

"Come here," Phil said, and used the hand that was in Clint's hair to ease his head down to rest one side of his face against the inside of Phil's thigh. Phil felt rather than heard the sigh of contentment as Clint relaxed and rubbed his face a little against the wool of Phil's suit pants. 

"Agent Jensen was fired yesterday," Phil said after a minute, just to break the silence.

Clint tilted his head up so that he could look at Phil.

“I heard,” he said softly, “just that he was gone, no details.”

"For grave misconduct and abuse of authority, including assaults on at least three uncollared Subs on base, and one on a collared Sub." Clint’s eyes went wide at that. Doms protected their Subs.

"It was during a mission, a long one. She was too afraid of Jensen to tell her Dom what had happened." Phil was quiet for a moment, and then said, "If anything like that ever happens to you again, you will tell me, no matter what."

"Yes, sir."

"I will go to almost any lengths to protect you, or to avenge any hurt done to you. I'll be collaring you tonight, Clint, but as far as I'm concerned, you're already mine to protect."

"I know that, sir. You told me last Saturday."

"Saturday? But..." Phil thought back to meeting Clint unexpectedly at his office door. Looking at his split lip, and telling him about the investigation into Jensen's behavior. Swearing to Clint that Jensen wouldn't hurt him again.

"I've cared about you for a long time," Phil said softly. "I suppose I should have let you know sooner." Phil carded his hand gently through Clint's hair again, knowing that soon he'd need to send him away and get on with his day's work.

As if he was reading Phil's thoughts, Clint said,

"I'd like to stay here just a little longer, please sir?"

"Just a little longer, then we both have to go back to work."

After a minute, Phil took his hand out of Clint's hair, and touched his cheek, gently, once.

Clint understood the signal, and straightened up on his knees, still between Phil's spread legs.

"I'd love to suck you, sir," Clint said, flicking his eyes hopefully at Phil's groin, and then back up to his face.

"That would be very nice, but it's not something that's ever going to happen at the office.”

"Oh.” Clint's face fell, but he recognized Phil's 'Don't fuck with me on this' expression and nodded. "Sorry, sir."

"No need to apologize. Now, I have a few errands I need to run this evening, so I'll be leaving early. You know the way to the apartment. Be there at seven, okay?"

"Yes, sir. Um... should I bring my stuff? There's not a lot, just clothes and some books and things."

"Bring everything you need for the weekend, and whatever you can easily carry. I'll help you with the rest after work on Monday."

"Yes, sir." Clint's wide smile was back. The discussion of moving his things to Phil's apartment was making all of this suddenly feel very, very real.

"Good. So, tonight."

"Yeah. Tonight. I guess I'll, uh... I'll see you then."

"Yes."

Clint climbed to his feet and moved out from behind Phil's desk. Phil rolled his chair back into position in front of his computer. 

Just as he had on Monday morning, at the door, Clint said,

"Okay," and sketched a wave and threw a grin over his shoulder as he left Coulson's office.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that readers might want to check the updated tags, as there are a couple of elements in this chapter that some people find squicky. Nothing bad happens, I promise!

Clint shifted his grip nervously on his duffle bag and the box that he was carrying awkwardly under one arm. He was a couple of minutes early, but he was pretty sure Phil wouldn't mind. He raised his fist and knocked his distinctive ‘rat-a-tat-tat’ on Phil's apartment door. When he'd buzzed up from the lobby, with a 'Hey, it's me,' he'd been half expecting Phil to ask him some sort of code phrase like 'What was the name of the restaurant in Budapest?' but he'd just been buzzed straight in. Thinking about it as he rode up in the elevator, Phil really didn't have anything to worry about from your average home invader who got in by buzzing up from the lobby. 

The door opened, and Phil was standing there with his phone to his ear.

"Just a minute, please," Phil said into the phone, and then mouthed, 'Have you eaten?' at Clint. Clint shook his head. He'd tried — he'd gone to the cafeteria an hour ago, but the smell of over-cooked tuna casserole had put him off, and he'd left without eating.

"Make it a large, please. Yes. Great, thank you very much." Phil snapped his phone closed and put it down on the side-table in the hall.

"Here, let me get that," he said, taking the box out of Clint's arms and heading into the living room.

"What's in here?" Phil asked.

"Uh... books and papers, mostly. My SHIELD contract, stuff like that." Clint stood in the middle of the living room with his duffle still over his shoulder, feeling more nervous and out-of-place than he had on his first night in Phil's apartment. Because then, he'd been a guest, and he knew (sort of) how a guest should behave. Now he was (going to be) Phil's Sub, and he was... moving in. He had no idea what to do.

"I'm going to put it here for now, and we can figure out what needs to go where later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Pizza will be here in about twenty minutes. I order from a place that's really close by and they know me, I tip well. Clothes in the duffle?"

"Yeah. Uniforms and civvies."

"I cleared out a couple of drawers for you, and some space in the closet." Phil led the way and told (while phrasing everything as a polite suggestion) Clint where to put his stuff as he unpacked. 

"The bedside table on that side," Phil said, pointing, "is empty too. It's yours now. Here, toss me your shaving kit, I'll put it in the bathroom," he continued, not-quite-transparently giving Clint a minute of privacy to stow whatever he wanted to in the bedside table. 

Clint didn't have much, but he stuffed a half-full bottle of lube, the dildo and butt plug he owned, and the novel he was currently reading into the drawer of the bedside table. By the time Phil returned from the bathroom, Clint was finishing piling his sweats, t-shirts and jeans into the dresser drawers. He held up the empty duffle bag.

"Where should I put this?"

"I'll put it in the closet for now. Nothing's set in stone here, Clint. We'll figure things out and adjust as we go along. It's been five years since I've lived with someone, so some adjustment time is normal."

"I... I lived in barracks when I was going though SHIELD basic training, obviously. Before that, well, I've lived with a few Doms but that wasn't... it wasn't like this. Before that, I lived with Barney." Clint was sharing some of himself, some of his history, and some of his fears as he said these things to Phil.

"We'll sort it out. It'll be okay." Phil reached out and put a hand on Clint's shoulder, stroking his thumb along the skin at the neckline of Clint's t-shirt. "I promise."

"Okay." They got lost staring into each other's eyes for a moment, and then the buzzer sounded for the building's front door.

"That'll be the pizza," Phil said.

Five minutes later they were sitting on the sofa, eating pizza straight from the delivery box. Phil's insistence on real plates and cutlery for take-out food eaten at home apparently didn't extend to pizza. Or maybe it was Fridays that were different. Clint made a mental note to ask sometime. Sometime when he wasn't a ball of nervous energy, trying vainly to stomach more than one slice of pizza. 

Clint stopped toying with the half-eaten slice in his hand, put it back in the box, and wiped his fingers on the piece of paper towel Phil had handed him earlier.

"Not hungry?" Phil asked, nibbling at the crust of his second slice.

"Not really. Nervous,” Clint said. A shrug of the shoulders went with the admission. "Excited nervous," he qualified.

"That's okay." Phil tossed his crust into the box, closed it, and went to put the leftovers in the fridge. When he got back into the living room, Clint was kneeling in front of the sofa in his usual spot, fully clothed, but looking entirely submissive and entirely gorgeous. Phil had to stop himself from gasping aloud, and instead moved to sit in front of Clint. 

"Thank you, for this," Phil said. "For giving me this so freely, so easily."

"I... I want to. I've always wanted to, for you,” Clint said, trusting that his part-explanation would be enough. It was.

"I'm going to push you hard tonight, before I collar you."

"I'm yours, sir," Clint said, his heart rate and breathing speeding up both at the thought of Phil pushing him yet again, and in anticipation of finally wearing Phil's collar.

"There are two things we need to discuss beforehand. First, do you want a contract?" Phil gestured at the manila folder sitting on the coffee table. Clint glanced over and could see that it contained several sheets of paper.

"Sir... I've read the standard contract, it just says that you'll honor my safeword and take care of me, and that I'll obey you. To be honest, I trust your word far more than us signing a piece of paper that's written in legal gobbledygook."

"And I trust your word, Clint. You're sure?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, the other thing I want to discuss is condoms."

"Sir?"

"I've put my cock in your mouth twice without one, but I used one the other night when I rode you, because it would have felt... presumptuous not to, even though I know we’re both clean. Since we're going to be monogamous, and we get tested regularly, my preference is not to use condoms. How do you feel about that?" Clint thought that it would be a long time before he got used to Phil asking him this sort of question; taking his preferences into account when making decisions. He liked it, though. It made him feel important, worthwhile. He liked it a lot.

"I've... done both in the past, sir, though it was never my choice either way. If you're asking me, I would prefer not to use them with you, sir."

"Okay, then unless we get into a situation on a mission that medically warrants otherwise, we won't be using condoms."

"Yes, sir."

"Is there anything else? Anything at all that you think is important, that you want to know, or ask, or discuss, before we continue tonight, anything at all?" Phil put a hand on Clint's jaw then, and tipped his chin up so he could look into Clint's eyes.

"No, sir."

"I'm going to ask you one last time, Clint. The very last time, I promise. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"I'm sure, sir. Phil. I want this, with you. I want to be yours, sir. To belong to you. To wear your collar. To be your Sub."

Phil wanted desperately to hug Clint or kiss him one more time, but stopped himself. He was going to push his new Sub harder than he had up to now. With good reason, but still... He wasn't entirely sure how Clint would react to what he had planned, but he had an idea it might be difficult for him. Looking into Clint's bright eyes, Phil took a breath, then another, long and calm, in and out. He needed to be focused and aware and completely in control for the next little while. Both for his own sake, and for Clint’s. Completely in control. When he was sure his voice would be perfectly steady, he said,

"Okay, then. Get up, go into the bathroom and strip. Wait for me there."

Clint walked into the bathroom, his hands already on the hem of his t-shirt to strip it off, when he saw the enema bag hanging from the shower curtain rod. He stopped and stared at it. 

'Maybe Phil used it on himself and didn't put it away after...' Clint thought, knowing that that wasn't the reason it was there. They'd gone to the bedroom, every other night Clint had been here with Phil. This time, Phil had told him to wait naked in the bathroom. He saw the thick towels covering the bathmat on the floor and took a deep steadying breath. He wasn’t scared, just… nervous. He knew would give Phil anything he wanted. And he knew Phil would take care of him.

Clint stripped off his clothes. He put his t-shirt, socks, and underwear in the laundry hamper, and folded his jeans and left them on the far side of the bathroom counter. Then he knelt, facing the bathroom door, and put his hands behind his back, clasping his left wrist in his right hand. Phil wouldn't make him wait. Wouldn't play mind games with him. Phil would hold him and stroke him and reassure him and tell him that he was good. 

Sure enough, Phil came into the bathroom a minute later, having changed out of his dress shirt and suit pants. He was bare-chested and wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, and Clint couldn't help but stare at Phil's chest and arms, at the bare skin that no one else got to see.

"Look at you," Phil said softly, stopping just inside the bathroom door. As it had earlier in the living room, the sight of Clint kneeling in submission made Phil's heart swell. That this strong, brave, talented, self-reliant man would willingly kneel for him took his breath away. He wanted to give Clint everything. Always. He was going to start by giving Clint everything he could, tonight. 

Phil reached up and took the enema bag off its hook.

"Have you had this kind of enema before?"

"No, sir," Clint said. "Just the little bottle kind from the drugstore, and um... I use the shower attachment thing. I, uh, I cleaned myself out really well before I came over, sir."

"Good," said Phil, putting his free hand on Clint's head and scratching lightly at his scalp, "Very good, that will make this easier, and much more effective."

The touch, the praise, and the warmth and pleasure in Phil's voice made Clint relax. He watched as Phil adjusted the taps until he was satisfied with the temperature and started to fill the bag. Phil opened a drawer and took out a bottle of lube and what looked like a black rubber butt plug. When the bag was full enough to sit upright in the sink by itself, Phil attached the butt plug to the end of the long hose coming out of the bag. Clint suddenly had a very clear picture of what was in store for him. Nervous as he was, his dick twitched and came up to half-mast at the thought of Phil making him take the enema. 

Phil hung the full bag back up on the hook. It looked enormous to Clint — surely Phil wouldn't make him take all of that, surely that wasn't even physically possible? The hose dangling from the bag, with the butt-plug-shaped nozzle at the end looked obscene and a tiny bit scary. Clint could feel himself tensing up.

Phil turned to him and said, "Lie down on your back for me."

"Um, on my back, sir?" 

Phil covered his surprise. This was the first time that one of his orders hadn't been immediately followed. 

"Trust, me, Clint," he said softly, then, in his commanding velvet-over-steel voice, "On your back.”

Clint lay down.

"Knees up and spread, feet flat on the floor," Phil ordered as he took two towels from a stack on the counter. He knelt beside Clint and put one folded towel under his head.

"Comfortable?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Up." Phil tapped Clint's hip, and Clint obediently lifted his ass off the ground so that Phil could slip the other folded towel under it. Phil grabbed the bottle of lube from the counter, and then settled himself on his knees, on the floor between Clint's legs. 

"I know what I'm doing with this, Clint," Phil said gently, as he picked up the butt plug nozzle of the enema kit and squeezed a generous dollop of lube onto it. "It might be uncomfortable, but it’s perfectly safe. I promise. You'll feel a lot of pressure, but that's normal. Tell me immediately if you feel any sharp pain, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Clint forced himself to breathe evenly and tried to relax as he watched Phil spread the lube over the plug.

"You might get cramps, that's normal too. Tell me when you do. I'll help you get through them. Try to relax as much as possible."

Phil nudged Clint's legs a little wider apart and reached down to spread his butt cheeks with a somewhat slippery hand. Clint felt the tip of the nozzle at his hole, and desperately tried not to clench up, but he couldn't help it. He also couldn't help a nervous flick of his eyes towards the huge hanging enema bag. 

"Eyes on me, Clint," Phil ordered. "On me and nowhere else, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." Clint fixed his gaze on Phil’s eyes, looking down at him. Phil was there, was touching him, was going to take care of him. It was okay. He was okay.

Phil could feel how tense and tight Clint was. The plug-shaped enema nozzle wasn't large. Under normal circumstances, if he was relaxed, Clint could have taken it easily, but like this... If this was a regular scene, Phil might have pushed it in anyway, letting Clint deal with the pain of the burning stretch, but not this time. Not tonight. Phil didn't want Clint to be sore for later, but neither did he want to stretch Clint with his fingers — he was saving that for later as well. No, what he needed to do was relax Clint, and turn him on. Get him to forget about the bag and the enema to help him take the plug. 

"I know you're going to be good for me, Clint," Phil spoke soothingly, enticingly as he stroked a fingertip along the underside of Clint's half-hard dick, lying on his hip. 

"You're always so good for me. And I'm going to take such good care of you. After tonight you'll be mine to take care of. You know I'd never do anything to harm you, don't you Clint?" Phil had continued gently stroking Clint's dick as it twitched and filled, letting his fingers trail lightly around the base of the head and over the crown, teasing the slit with the tip of one finger, then gliding back down the shaft to the base. Phil hadn't really expected an answer to his question, but he got a breathy reply.

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Phil continued to play with Clint's dick, occasionally dropping his hand lower to scratch lightly at the skin of his scrotum. Clint whined and shifted a little, looking for more sensation. Phil gave it to him, curling his fingers loosely around the head of Clint's dick and stroking very slowly, while at the same time applying gentle, even pressure to the nozzle at his hole. Clint sighed, and relaxed his muscles. The plug slipped in easily as Phil stroked his dick some more, and then gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Good, very good, Clint. Very good." Now that the nozzle was in, Phil sat back on his heels and moved in closer between Clint's legs, spreading his knees until they were snug up on either side of Clint's slightly elevated butt. Clint relaxed further at the contact, and slid his feet in so that his calves were touching the outsides of Phil's thighs.

"Is... is that okay?" Clint asked.

"Yes, Clint, it's fine. Move as close to me as you want to. I'm going to be touching you the whole time, I'm going to be right here, taking care of everything. I need you to trust me, and to take as much as you can for me. Will you do that, Clint?"

"Yes, sir." Clint felt calmer now, and kept his eyes on Phil's face, as he'd been told. Not being allowed to look at the bag hanging over his head helped. Phil touching him helped more. Clint was nervous and excited, aroused and a tiny bit scared. The plug in his ass felt good — the bulk of it filling him up was comforting. Phil's hands on him, teasing his dick, felt great. 

"Good." Phil rubbed one hand up Clint's abdomen to his chest and traced the marks he'd made three nights ago with his fingertips. He pressed the edges of one very lightly. Clint sighed and smiled.

"You like that?"

"I love it, sir. I love it when you touch the marks you made. I love it when you make me feel them."

"Good. We're going to start now, slowly. Relax and breathe." Phil continued tracing the marks with his fingers while he used the other hand to open the clamp on the tube to start the water flowing into Clint's body. Clint tensed a little as he felt the flow start, but Phil moved his hand from the welt on Clint's chest to his left nipple and started to rub and lightly scratch at it. Clint's hard, jutting dick twitched, and he moaned.

"God, Phil." 

"Is that good?"

"Yes. God, yes. Love the way you touch me, Phil, sir. Love feeling your hands on my skin."

"Good, because I love touching you Clint." Phil trailed his fingers slowly across Clint's chest to his other nipple and as he started to play with it, he increased the flow from the enema bag. He drew another loud moan from Clint as he swiped the pads of his fingers across Clint's nipple while pressing firmly into the edge of the whip-mark below it with his thumb. 

After a couple of minutes the moan changed to a whimper, though, and Clint tensed and shifted a little.

"Clint? Are you okay?"

"I'm... yeah... I... it feels... it's... a lot."

"A lot of what, Clint?" Phil asked, rubbing down across Clint's ribcage with his hand and resting it lightly on Clint's belly.

"Pressure, a lot of pressure."

"That's fine, that's normal. You're doing very well, Clint, very well for me." Phil spoke soothingly and started to slowly and gently massage Clint's lower abdomen. He could feel the liquid inside move as he did, and Clint groaned.

"It's okay, Clint, you're okay." Phil moved his hand back to Clint's rigid dick and stroked it very slowly and lightly as a distraction from what was going on in Clint's belly. It worked for a minute, and then Clint tensed and gasped and swore. Phil immediately clamped the hose to stop the flow.

"Talk to me, Clint. What's wrong?"

"Cramp. Fuck. It hurts, Phil. It fucking hurts."

"Okay, okay, let me help." Phil put both hands on Clint's belly and massaged it slowly, starting very gently but then increasing the pressure, digging his fingers into Clint's tense ab muscles, and using the heels of his hands to move the water inside him. 

"Jesus, fuck. Phil, that feels... that's so... Fuck."

"Talk to me, Clint."

"It's better, the cramp I mean, but you're moving the water inside me and I can feel it moving and it... it feels weird." Phil could hear the hint of fear in Clint’s voice and used both reassurance and praise to assuage him. 

"You'll get used to it. You're okay. I’ve got you. It's perfectly safe, Clint, I promise. You're doing so very well for me, Clint. Taking this for me. I’ve got you.” Phil continued to massage Clint's belly, using gentle pressure from his hands to move the water up from his colon into his lower intestine. Clint started to relax again.

"Better, better now. Thanks Phil."

“Good. Very good. You’re okay, Clint, I’ve got you. You know I’d never let anything bad happen to you, right?” Phil got a nod from Clint, but he continued anyway. “You know I’m going to keep you safe, don’t you? No matter what I ask from you, no matter how hard I push you, I’ll always be right here, taking care of you…” Phil’s hands were slowly stroking Clint’s chest and belly as he spoke, fingertips gliding over Clint’s nipples and the welts from the whip, and then sliding down to caress his dick, which had drooped from the pain of the cramp, and stroke his inner thighs. He could feel Clint relaxing again under his hands. Phil continued to stroke and tease and touch and praise until Clint was sighing and moaning again, and his dick was hard and twitching.

"I'm going to start again, now. Slowly." 

“Yes, sir,” was Clint’s breathy reply. 

Phil opened the clamp on the tube that let the water flow, and moved his other hand back to Clint's dick. He slowly stroked it, playing with it enough to stimulate and tease, but nowhere near enough to make Clint come. That was for later. Clint moaned. Phil scratched across the sensitive skin of his balls, then moved his free hand back up to Clint's nipples, rubbing harder now, and pinching. He worked to try to balance the pressure and discomfort from the enema with pleasure and small jolts of familiar, comforting pain. He watched Clint’s responses carefully, and he could see Clint's abdomen starting to inflate from the water flowing into him. 

"It's okay to squirm if you need to, Clint, and make as much noise as you want. Don't try to hold back."

Clint moaned again, and then started to pant.

"It's... it's getting hard to take, sir."

"I know, I know it's hard, but you can take it, I know you can. You can take it for me, Clint.” Phil watched carefully for any signs of real distress. He’d learned a lot about Clint’s responses in the last few days, and knew how hard this was on him — frightening even, because it was something new, something Clint hadn’t had done to him before. Phil was confident he’d be able to tell if it was going too far, but he wanted to push Clint almost to the edge, make him take as much of the enema as he possibly could. Phil wasn’t sure if Clint would understand the symbolism, but cleaning his new Sub out as completely as possible on the night of his collaring, that was important to Phil. 

"Yes, sir. For you, sir. Fuck. Fuck, it's... it hurts, sir."

"How does it hurt? Clint, tell me."

"Just... the pressure, sir. It's so much. It feels like I'm gonna burst, sir. I can't take any more, please, sir. I'm sorry. I can't." Clint closed his eyes, and started to shake.

Phil stopped the flow and put both hands on Clint's chest, flat on his pecs, pressing lightly.

"We're going to take a break. Let you get used to it. It's okay. It'll be okay, I promise, Clint.” Phil pressed his fingers lightly into the marks from his whip, giving Clint something else—something he liked—to focus on. “Open your eyes and look at me, please Clint.” Phil's voice was soft and caring. Clint’s eyes fluttered open.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay. Just breathe, and relax." Phil moved his hands slowly, rubbing softly all over Clint's chest, before drifting down over his belly and stroking gently across the skin that was stretched tightly over his distended abdomen. 

"I'm sorry sir, I… don’t think I can take any more." Despite his words, Clint’s breathing had settled and he seemed calmer.

"Easy, just relax. I’ve got you. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Phil massaged Clint's belly, moving the water around inside him, making Clint gasp and groan and shake from the competing sensations. The water was moving under Phil’s hands and putting waves of pressure on his prostate, making him feel like he was about to come. Phil’s hands on him, soft and gentle, were reassuring and so comforting, but at the same time the pressure in his guts was overwhelming. Phil’s hands roamed, softly stroking the whip marks, gently teasing his nipples, and then drifting back down to his distended abdomen and settling there, gentle and warm.

"I want you to take this, Clint. I want you to take this for me, because I want you to be completely clean the first time I fuck you." Phil spoke softly, his eyes bright and locked on Clint's. "I want to clean you out completely before I bury my cock deep inside you and fill you up with my come."

Clint moaned.

"Sir. Phil. Oh God, Phil. I want that. I want that so much." Clint was calm and still now under his hands, and Phil went back to running his hands over Clint's abdomen and chest again and again, touching and stroking and murmuring more praise and reassurance.

“You’re okay Clint. I’ve got you. You’re doing so well for me. I can see how hard you’re trying and it makes me so proud of you, that you try so hard and take so much for me. I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re being so good for me, Clint. Doing so well.” Phil watched as Clint’s breathing slowed more, and his body relaxed further. 

“Want to. For you, sir. Want to be good for you. Want to give you everything.” Clint’s voice was quiet but steady.

Phil’s heart swelled. He was desperately, madly in love with this strong, beautiful, willing Sub, and again he wanted to throw all his elaborate plans away and hold and cuddle and stroke Clint gently. But there was a reason for what he was doing, and he knew the end result would be worth it.

"Are you ready to continue?" Phil asked quietly.

"Ye -" Clint's voice broke and he tried again, "Yes, sir. Yes please, sir." 

"I've got you, Clint. You're okay. Close your eyes now, if it helps, and just concentrate on the feeling of my hands touching your skin."

"Yes, sir."

Clint closed his eyes. He'd never felt anything like the pressure of the water filling his guts, being full of sloshing, moving liquid, his skin tight over his obscenely distended belly, stretching his body out of shape. Clint breathed. 'Phil's got me. It's okay. Phil's got me.' Clint repeated it over and over in his head like a mantra. He concentrated on Phil’s hands touching him, like he’d been told. 

He felt one of Phil's hands lift off his belly and he knew that meant the flow was going to start again. He could take it. He would take it. He would take anything, everything Phil asked of him. Always. From now on. He belonged to Phil. His body was Phil's to do whatever he wanted with. Phil’s words: ‘I want you to be completely clean the first time I fuck you,’ played in his head, and suddenly, Clint understood. Phil was washing him out. Making him clean. Scrubbing away the stains of his past with other Doms, and making him clean and ready for Phil to claim as his own. Clint’s heart swelled at the thought of Phil doing that for him. Of a new, fresh start with this gentle, caring, loving Dom who by some miracle wanted him. Phil was cleaning him out, and then Phil was going to collar him, and then fuck him. Clint let himself drift on the pain of the pressure in his guts, the wonderful feeling of Phil’s hands on his skin, and his submission to Phil's will.

'I'm yours,' he thought, over and over, 'I'm yours, sir.' He realized he must have spoken aloud when Phil answered him.

"Soon. So very soon, now, Clint. I'll give you my collar, and you'll be mine."

"Want that, sir." Clint opened his eyes so that he could see Phil's face as he whispered. "Want it more than anything. Want you."

"And I want you. So much. You're being so good for me, Clint, working so hard. I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you, sir," Clint mumbled. "Want to make you proud. Want to do good for you."

"You're doing very well for me, Clint. Very well. You're almost done, just a tiny bit more." Phil's eyes flicked up and over to the hanging bag, and Clint's resolutely did not follow them. Instead, he closed his eyes again, and let himself go completely limp. Phil had this. Phil had him. He focused his awareness on Phil's touch, the hand that was alternately massaging his belly and gently stroking his dick. Then Clint felt both of Phil's hands on him, and he knew that meant Phil had closed the clamp on the hose, that he'd taken all he had to. He didn't know if he'd taken the whole bag, or just as much as Phil thought he needed to. It didn't matter. It was Phil's decision, not his.

"Good. You've done so well for me, Clint. So very well. I'm very proud of you. In a minute I'm going to move. Not far, and I'll still be touching you, I promise. I need you to get up, onto your knees, and grab the side of the tub. You can do it as slowly as you need to. You can move however you want, whatever is most comfortable for you. I'll be right here beside you the whole time. Do you understand?" Phil was still touching him, massaging his belly, carefully moving the water around inside him. Cleaning him out. Making him ready.

"Yes, sir." Clint wasn't sure how he was supposed to move with all this water in his guts, but he would try. For Phil, he would try. 

Phil's touch on him gentled, and the massage became a slow, sensuous stroking of his chest and belly, then stopped. One hand stayed on his thigh as Phil edged out from between his legs. 

"Okay, whenever you're ready. As slowly as you need to." Clint opened his eyes and turned his head to re-orient himself. He considered for a minute, and then decided to try rolling onto his side, facing the tub. That way he'd be able to grab the rim and haul himself up. He swung his knees to the side, and tried to roll. As soon as he'd started to move, the water in his guts sloshed to the side and he yelled.

Both of Phil's hands were on him, one on his thigh and one on his back.

"You're okay, Clint. You're okay. It's just shifting. It's fine. I'm right here. You're okay."

Clint gritted his teeth and finished rolling onto his side, then he grabbed the rim of the tub with one hand and levered himself up onto his other elbow. 

"Phil, I'm just gonna do this, so don't worry if I scream or something."

"If that's what you want. I'll be right here."

Clint nodded, and then in one spastic motion hauled himself up onto his knees. He was gripping the side of the tub for dear life, shaking and sweating, the muscles in his chest and thighs rigid as his abs tried in vain to stabilize the sloshing liquid in his belly. 

"Good, Clint. Very, very good. Don't move for a minute."

Phil got up and turned on the taps in the bath. Next to him, Clint whined as the sound of rushing water made him clench the butt plug more tightly. Phil stuck his hand in the water and adjusted the temperature. 

"Here's what we're going to do now. I'm going to step into the tub, and then you're going to stand up and join me. I'm going to help you up, and you're going to hang onto me. After that, you're not going to do anything else. I'm going to take care of everything. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Clint." Phil's voice was sharp. He needed to know that Clint was clear-headed and understood the instructions.

"Sorry, sir. Yes, I understand."

"Okay." Phil shucked off his sweatpants and stepped naked into the tub. He stood facing where Clint was on his knees, still hanging onto the edge of the tub with an iron grip. Phil reached down, holding out both hands for Clint to transfer his grip to them. Clint took a deep breath, told himself it would soon be over, and grabbed hold of Phil's hands. He knew standing was going to be the worst part, and decided to stick to the 'get it over with' approach.

"Here we go," he said, to warn Phil, and pushed off his knees to his feet, using his grip on Phil for balance when his legs shook under him.

"I've got you,” Phil said reassuringly, and then waited for Clint to be ready to move.

Clint turned a twisted approximation of a smile on him, and then stepped one leg over the edge into the tub. He wobbled.

"Put your hands on my shoulders," Phil suggested, and Clint did, one at a time. He stepped the other leg into the tub. 

"Good. Very good. Now, don't move unless I tell you to. Let me do everything." 

Phil reached around Clint and pulled the shower curtain closed, then toggled the water to the showerhead. The spray hit Clint's back and it felt good. He'd spent the last half hour lying on a minimally-padded bathroom floor, after all. The sound of the water was still making him clench uncomfortably, but that was a distant second to the pressure in his guts, lower now than what he had gotten used to earlier, thanks to gravity.

Phil stepped closer, put his arms around Clint and stroked one hand up and down his back for a minute. The hand then stroked all the way down to his butt and grasped the end of the nozzle. 

"Relax, Clint. Just relax and let me take it out." Phil pulled, gently but steadily, and Clint couldn't fight the urge to let go. He relaxed his muscles, letting Phil withdraw the plug. Phil dropped it and Clint heard the small 'thud' of the rubber plug landing in the bottom of the tub, still attached to its hose. Involuntarily, Clint clenched up again. Phil stroked his back some more.

"It's okay, it's fine. Let it go, just relax and let it all go." Phil murmured the soothing words in his ear, and Clint relaxed his sphincter. He tried not to think about the flood that was pouring out of his ass. Instead he concentrated on the relief of the pressure in his guts, and holding onto a wet, naked Phil who was still rubbing his back and murmuring soothing words and praise into his ear. He closed his eyes. Phil unhooked the showerhead from its bracket and played the water down Clint's butt and legs, rinsing him clean. All the while he murmured into Clint's ear how good he was, how well he had done, how Phil was going to take care of him, take care of everything.

Empty, and spent, Clint simply clung to Phil. 

Phil played the spray of water over his shoulders, back, butt, and legs, and then clipped the showerhead back into its bracket. He picked up a washcloth and a bar of soap, applied one to the other and started to scrub Clint's shoulders with the soapy cloth. Phil worked his way down Clint's back to his butt. One of Phil's hands spread his butt cheeks and the other swiped the soapy cloth between them, making sure that Clint was completely clean. Clint's brain suddenly caught up to Phil's actions. Phil was washing him… Phil was washing him. The cloth circled each butt-cheek, and then Phil pulled back enough to be able to see Clint's face.

"I'm going to kneel down, now, to do your legs. I want you to put your hands on my shoulders and leave them there while I do, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Clint said, no other response being possible. Phil was washing him. Phil had cleaned him out on the inside, and now Phil was about to get down on his knees in the tub to wash his legs. Clint was stunned. He moved his arms from where they were draped around Phil's back to put his hands on Phil's shoulders, as he'd been told. Phil smiled at him, and then got down on his knees.

Phil was on his knees, in the bathtub, washing him. Clint closed his eyes, wanting to savor the moment. Like he had on the first night with Phil, the night when Phil had pulled him close to sleep cuddled up together, Clint wanted to imprint every second of this on his memory. This feeling of being cared for, of being wanted, of being so important and precious and worthy to Phil that Phil would get down on his own knees to wash him. Clint felt like he wanted to cry. He felt Phil drag the warm, soft, soapy washcloth down the back of his thigh, past his knee, and down his calf to his foot. Phil tapped Clint's ankle, and Clint lifted his foot. Phil guided it by touch to rest on his thigh, and Phil washed Clint's foot, running the cloth between each toe before tapping his ankle again. Clint put his foot down. The cloth traveled up his shin, up the front of his thigh, and then moved to his other leg, where it repeated the entire journey. 

Once he'd finished washing Clint's legs, Phil climbed back to his feet. 

"Turn around," he said into Clint's ear, giving him a tiny push to get him moving. Clint turned, now facing the spray of the water. Phil guided him to lean back, pressing up against the wet hair on Phil’s chest. Clint let his head loll back onto one of Phil's shoulders. Phil applied more soap to the washcloth, and started at Clint's exposed neck, washing it gently before moving down to his chest, his belly, and finally, his groin. Phil scrubbed the cloth through the coarse hair between Clint's legs, around his dick and balls. He washed everything thoroughly, not being overly gentle, but not rough either, handling Clint with confident familiarity.

Finished washing Clint's front, Phil dropped the cloth and put both arms around him, nuzzling the side of his neck.

"I think you're clean," he said into Clint's ear.

"That mean you're gonna fuck me now?" Clint said, already far enough down to be saying whatever was in his head and slurring just a little.

"Soon," answered Phil. "Very soon. I'm going to collar you first."

Clint drew in a breath and his heart started to pound as Phil reached out to turn off the water. 

"Stay here a minute," Phil said, and Clint had to bite his lip not to whimper when Phil stepped away and out of the tub, breaking skin contact for the first time in almost an hour. Phil grabbed a large, fluffy towel off the stack on the bathroom counter, and said, "Come here."

Clint climbed out of the tub and Phil wrapped him in the towel, rubbing him with it to dry him off. As he had been with washing, Phil was thorough, kneeling down to dry Clint's legs, scrubbing the towel through the hair at his groin and wiping the drops of water off his arms, chest, and back. Lastly, Phil draped the towel over Clint's head and rubbed his hair, all over, with strong sturdy fingers. Clint's heart was thudding in his chest, and at the same time he felt like he was going to dissolve into a puddle on the floor. He'd dreamed of this, dreamed of being taken care of by a gentle, loving Dom who would do these things for him. Dreamed, because at the time, he'd been convinced that Doms like that didn't actually exist, that they were just a made-up fantasy for the movies, like cops who could punch someone in the jaw six times in a row without breaking any fingers. 

"Clint, are you with me?" Phil's voice broke through Clint's reverie, and he opened his eyes to find Phil watching him with a smile on his face.

"Yeah, ah... Yes, sir." Clint blinked, pulling himself back to full awareness of his surroundings.

"It's okay, Clint." Phil was smiling more widely now, and Clint fervently hoped that he was the cause, that he could somehow make Phil happy enough to smile like that at him. Phil tossed the towel aside, and then ran his fingers through Clint's hair a couple of times to straighten it, smiling all the while. Phil leaned forward and kissed him once, softly, on the lips. "Go wait for me in the bedroom. I'll be right there."

"Yes, sir," Clint said, and did as he was told.

Phil took a deep breath and pulled himself together. Clint's reaction to being washed had been heartbreaking. The way he had clung to Phil at first, and then how he had gone limp against Phil's chest. Phil was pretty sure that Clint wasn't even aware of the little mewling noises he’d been making while Phil ran the cloth over his chest and groin. Phil felt a fierce desire to give Clint all the things he'd never had, starting tonight, starting with... love.

He grabbed a clean towel and quickly dried himself off. Picking up the bottle of lube, he switched off the bathroom light and headed for the bedroom. He found Clint kneeling in his usual spot by the bed and walked around him to sit on the edge. He dropped the lube on the bed. The room was clean; there were no toys or cuffs or anything else in evidence. That wasn't what tonight was about. There was, however, a flat, square box sitting on the bedside table.

"Come here," Phil said, spreading his knees so that Clint could shuffle over to kneel between them. Phil ran his hand through Clint's damp hair once more. 

"I promised you I wouldn't ask you again, so I won't. Instead I'll tell you this: I'm sure too, Clint. I'm sure I want this. I'm sure I want you. I've wanted you for a long time, but I needed you to come to me on your own. I needed it to be your choice, not my suggestion, that made this happen. Now that it has, I want you to be mine, Clint. And I want you to wear this, to show that you belong to me."

Phil picked up the box and opened it, holding it low in his lap so that Clint could see the contents. Clint gasped. Nestled in grey silk was the most beautiful collar he had ever seen.

Clint had been expecting a plain, utilitarian collar in black or maybe brown leather. Something simple, with one or two buckles at the back and the traditional D-ring at the center front. The collar in the box looked nothing like that. For one thing it was a chevron-style collar, so instead of being a plain, round loop of leather, the collar was shaped so that it came to a point at the front, low on the wearer's neck. Clint realized that this meant it would be invisible under his tac suit, and he'd therefore have to take it off less often when he was in the field.

But it also wasn't plain, or black. It was purple, a rich, dark purple that Clint thought looked incredibly elegant. The purple leather was edged, top and bottom, with smooth black piping which set off the purple, and gave it a slight resemblance to his uniform, just enough so that the collar would complement the uniform, and vice-versa. But the most striking thing about the collar was the thin silvery metal band that ran through the middle of the purple leather, from the back near the buckle to the front on both sides. At the front, where the collar came to a point, was a small triangular metal plaque held on with tiny rivets and engraved with a stylized representation of two arrowheads meeting at their points. Clint could see that at the other end of the metal bands, near the collar's buckle, the purple leather had been stamped with black ink to represent fletching. The overall effect was two silver arrows inset into the purple collar, meeting at the center front, which would sit in the hollow of Clint's throat. 

"Do you like it?"

"I love it. Phil. It's gorgeous. It's... you had this made. Custom made. For me." Clint reached out one finger, and, after glancing up at Phil for permission, traced one of the thin bands of metal that formed the 'shaft' of one 'arrow'. "How? When you only decided that you wanted me on Wednesday night?"

"I decided on Wednesday, but I hoped from the minute you knelt in my office on Monday morning. I... ah, know a leatherworker who owed me a favor. I called him after you left my office on Monday and told him what I wanted. He put a rush on it for me. The metal is brushed steel," Phil said, as he watched Clint run his finger lightly over one of the metal bands. "I would have liked it to be silver, but it would tarnish too easily..." 

Clint ran his finger over the collar again, tracing the engraved arrowheads at the point of the collar. Phil saw something in his face.

"What is it, Clint?"

"It's beautiful, and I love it. I really, really do." Clint looked up into Phil's eyes earnestly. "I... I guess I kind of expected it to have your name on it."

Phil picked the collar up out of its nest of silk, and turned it over. On the underside, where the leather came to a point, directly beneath the arrowheads and held with the same rivets, was a heart-shaped plaque, brushed steel as well, deeply engraved with the monogram ‘PJC’. 

"It will be next to your skin," Phil said softly. Clint gazed at it for a while, then reached out one finger to trace the engraved letters. He looked up at Phil, who answered the unasked question.

"My full name is Phillip Julien Coulson." He turned the collar back over and put the box aside. Then he held the collar in both hands, looking down at Clint. Clint straightened his spine, and gave a small nod.

"Clinton Francis Barton, do you give yourself freely to me, to dominate you, protect you, and cherish you, for as long as you wear my collar?"

"I give myself to you, Phillip Julien Coulson," Clint smiled a little as he said Phil's full name, "of my own free will. I vow to submit to you, in mind, body, and soul, for as long as... as long as..." Clint trembled a little as he stumbled over the last of the traditional words, before abandoning them. "For as long as you want me to be yours, sir. I hope it's forever," he finished, his voice rough around a lump in his throat.

Phil felt tears pricking at his eyes as Clint bowed his head for Phil to buckle the collar in place. His fingers brushed hairs that were standing up on the back of Clint's neck as he wrapped the dark leather snugly around his Sub's throat and fed the strap through the buckle. Phil's heart was pounding as he fastened the buckle, formally collaring Clint. He ran his fingers along the top edge of the collar where it met the skin of Clint's neck, from back to front, and Clint looked up. Phil swallowed.

"You look gorgeous wearing my collar, Clint. So beautiful." Phil continued to trace his fingers along the edges of the leather, the way he had when he had buckled leather cuffs onto Clint's wrists. "How does it feel, is it too tight?"

"No, no sir. It's perfect... it feels... perfect. Thank you, sir. Thank you." Phil could see Clint straining not to move, as if he wanted to throw himself into Phil's arms. Phil almost let him, but he wanted something else. 

"Back up a little," he said, motioning Clint to make room for him to stand up. Phil turned back the covers on the bed and then patted the mattress.

"Climb in, and move to the middle," he said. Clint did, Phil's eyes on him the whole time. As soon as Clint was settled, Phil climbed in after him, pulling the covers over them both to form a warm cocoon. Then Phil crawled on top of Clint, blanketing his Sub's body with his own. 

"Touch me," he whispered into Clint's ear as he tangled their legs together, wrapped his arms around Clint's broad shoulders, and took his mouth in a deep kiss. 

Clint wrapped his arms around Phil and kissed him back. He felt one of Phil's hands move to his throat to trace the edge of the collar, again, and again. It felt wonderful, almost as good as the collar itself did against his skin. It wasn't tight, but it was snug enough that Clint could feel the tiniest bit of strain every time he swallowed, and he loved that, loved the feeling of being bound, being held. 

'I'm wearing Phil's collar,' Clint thought as he felt the touch at his neck again, 'I belong to Phil.' He couldn't remember ever being this happy, except maybe the first day he hit the bull’s-eye ten times in a row (once was luck, two or three times was practice, but ten times in a row meant he could do it; meant he was good). He had his arms around Phil, and Phil was kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him, like he'd never stop. Like he'd waited his whole life to spend the night kissing Clint. He could feel Phil's cock hardening against his own, feel Phil's heart pounding against his chest, feel one of Phil's hands in his hair. 

'I'm yours,' Clint wanted to shout. 'Please, Phil, take me, I'm yours,' but his mouth was full of a hot insistent tongue, and his chest was weighed down by the press of Phil's body, holding him, pinning him to the bed, anchoring him under Phil, where he belonged. 

Phil felt Clint moving under him, slowly, sensuously, as if all he wanted in the world was to get as much of his skin in contact with Phil's as possible. Phil was happy to oblige him in that, for a while anyway, while he got his fill of holding Clint in his arms, and kissing him. Or perhaps not so much got his fill, because he couldn't imagine ever kissing Clint enough, but rather, until the urgency of what he wanted to do next threatened to overwhelm him, as it was very close to doing. Phil disengaged one hand from Clint's muscular back and groped along the bedcovers, looking for the bottle of lube he'd tossed there earlier. He located it and tucked it under Clint's thigh to warm it while he went back to stroking Clint's neck where the collar circled it, and kissing him, kissing him, kissing him.

He felt Clint moving with more urgency now, the slow sensuousness giving way to a barely restrained insistence, as Clint rolled his hips up into Phil's groin again and again, and slid one hand down to grasp and knead one of Phil's tight buttocks. Phil pulled the lube out from under Clint's thigh, flipped the cap, and squeezed some onto his fingers. He didn't worry about making a mess; he was planning to go through more than one set of sheets this weekend anyway. He shoved the bottle aside with the heel of his hand, then probed between Clint's butt cheeks with his lubed fingers, massaging Clint's puckered hole with his fingers for the first time. Clint moaned, and pulled his knee out to the side to give Phil better access.

Phil went back to kissing Clint deeply as he massaged the ring of muscle. Clint was a little loose from the enema nozzle, but Phil still wanted to go slowly. He wanted to open Clint up gently, sensuously. Stretch him gradually so that there was no pain, no burn, just mounting pleasure and want and need. He slipped one finger in to the first knuckle and Clint sighed and moaned again. Phil fingered Clint gently, pressing and probing, exploring the tight heat inside his body. He applied a little more pressure, and his finger slid in all the way. 

Phil spent a long time pressing just one finger into Clint while he kissed him deeply and thoroughly, his finger mimicking his tongue in Clint's mouth, swirling around and around before delving deep. After what seemed an age, he added a second finger, which slipped in almost as easily. Clint was relaxed and stretched, ready and willing, wanting, and desperate.

Desperate enough to tear his mouth away from Phil's and gasp,

"I'm ready, sir, I don't need any more, I just... Please, sir."

Phil slid his free hand into Clint's hair and gripped.

"I want to do this. I want to do it slow, and gentle, and easy. Let me do this, Clint."

"Yes, sir," said Clint, stilling under him and obeying. A wave of desire ran through Phil at Clint's reaction, and he slowly, gently, easily pumped two fingers in and out of Clint's ass. Then he added a third.

Clint moaned, then sighed and relaxed again, pliant under Phil's touch. Phil twisted his wrist, turning his fingers inside Clint's ass, working at the same time to stretch him open and probe him deeply. Phil wanted to learn every inch of Clint's body, every response to every nerve ending. His careful exploration of the inside of Clint's body with his fingers continued as he searched for and located Clint's prostate, brushing the smooth round bump with the pads of his fingers and getting a welcome gasp and moan from Clint.

Phil took his mouth away from plundering Clint’s.

"You like that?"

"Fuck, yes. Fuck. Phil. I want you. I want you so much. I need you."

"Soon," Phil said soothingly as his fingers continued to probe deeply. "Very soon. I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to slide my hard cock into you and fuck you, slow and deep to start, while I mark you with my teeth. Then, once I've marked you, once I've claimed you as mine, I'm going to fuck you hard."

Clint moaned again under him, his hips bucking, looking for friction on his hard dick. 

"Want that, sir. Want it so much. Want you to fuck me hard. As hard as you can, sir. Want you... want you..."

Clint's babbling was making it hard for Phil to keep himself under control, because he wanted, too. Wanted so much to slip his painfully hard cock into Clint's hot, tight ass. To finally claim him, to finally truly have him. Phil twisted his wrist again, working his three fingers deeper into Clint's ass. There was no resistance, just a welcome heat from deep within, and a low rumbling moan from Clint's chest that Phil could feel beneath him as well as hear. Phil had reached the end of his patience. 

He slid his fingers out, drawing a small whimper from Clint, and located the lube. Quickly slicking himself up, he shifted, urging one of Clint's thighs up onto his shoulder. Phil positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing lightly at Clint's slick, ready hole. He kept his grip firm in Clint's hair, silently cautioning his Sub not to move. Phil's other hand was planted on the mattress by Clint's head, supporting his weight so that he could look down into Clint's face, into his eyes. 

Phil pressed in, slowly. So very slowly. 

Clint felt Phil's thick cock sliding into him, just a little at a time. It felt... Clint felt like he was flying apart. Like Phil's eyes staring into his and Phil's hand in his hair were the only things holding him down, the only things preventing him from dissolving into a million tiny pieces. He heard himself moan, and then an answering moan from Phil. He wanted, needed to touch. He raised a hand and wrapped his fingers around Phil's bicep, feeling the strength, the power of his Dom as he did. Phil's cock slid into him, inch-by-inch, filling him up, taking him, claiming him, making him feel possessed and wanted and cherished and whole.

"Phil," Clint whispered, looking up into Phil's eyes, and not having words for what he was feeling. He felt Phil's groin snug up against his ass, felt Phil's balls warm and soft against his butt. He tried to tilt his hips, pull his legs out further, open himself more to draw Phil in just a little deeper, then he stopped moving and lay, panting, waiting, wanting. 

"Phil," he whispered again.

"Clint." Phil's voice was low and gravelly, and Clint could hear the shards of his self-control in it. There was something in Phil's eyes, something deep and sad and wonderful. 

"I... Clint, I love you," Phil said, his voice barely above a whisper. Clint was astonished. Dumbfounded. Stunned. Before he could recover enough to say anything, Phil was kissing him again, softly, gently, before pulling back just enough to whisper against Clint's mouth, "I'm going to mark you now, hard and deep." 

Phil's lips trailed from Clint's mouth, along his jaw, and down the side of his neck to a point just above his collar. Phil mouthed at the skin there for a minute before taking skin and muscle and sinew in his teeth and biting down, hard. Clint couldn't stop himself from crying out. Not because it hurt, though it did, but because Phil was taking him, claiming him, marking him. His calm, controlled Dom was biting down on his neck like a stallion mounting a mare. 

"Yes, Phil, yes. God, yes, Phil. Mark me. Take me, make me yours."

As Clint moaned out the words, Phil fastened his lips to the skin between his teeth and sucked hard, bringing a large, livid bruise to the surface. Then he started to move. Tiny, controlled little thrusts at first, small movements of his hips that dragged his thick cock out of Clint just a little and then pushed back in. Clint moaned. Phil sucked harder. He tasted blood, and that shattered the last of his control. He started to fuck Clint in earnest, pumping his cock in and out, thrusting hard, until he needed more air than he could get through his nose, and pulled his mouth away from Clint's neck to look into his face again. 

"Fuck me, please, yes, Phil. Fuck me harder, please, harder, Phil!" Clint gasped out, wanting more, wanting everything. Phil shifted his knees, hiked Clint's butt up a little further, and put his elbow down on the bed so that he could wiggle his free hand under Clint's shoulder and get a grip on the back of Clint's collar. He started to pound into Clint, hard and fast, fucking, taking, claiming. His grip on the collar was tight, making Clint fight for each harsh breath he dragged into his lungs, but every exhale was accompanied by the loudest 'Yes' that he could manage. Phil was taking him, fucking him, while holding him by the collar. It felt incredible, wonderful, perfect. Just as he thought he wasn't going to be able to take any more without starting to cry, he heard Phil's command,

"Come for me, Clint."

Clint hips bucked up reflexively, without thought, and that was all it took, he was coming, coming, coming, shouting and sobbing and holding onto Phil for dear life, and Phil was roaring over him, coming into him.

Clint felt the spasms as Phil's rhythm faltered and jerked and stuttered as he came. Clint was breathing in quick shallow gasps, and his vision was a little fuzzy around the edges — from lack of oxygen, or from coming harder than he ever had in his life, he had no idea. The pressure on his neck eased as Phil let go of the collar and buried his face in the side of Clint's neck, panting. Clint wrapped an arm around his back, holding on, eyes closed. 

Phil hadn't blacked out, even if things had gone a little fuzzy there for a moment. He was lying on top of Clint, his softening cock still buried deep inside his Sub, waiting for his breathing to come back to something near normal. He felt Clint's heart beating as fast as his own, Clint's chest rising and falling in counterpoint to his, Clint's arms around him. He heard Clint murmuring,

"I'm yours. I'm yours, Phil. I'm yours." 

It wasn't 'I love you,' but it was probably all he was going to get. Phil was okay with that. He couldn't expect Clint to fall in love with him, just because... just because of the way he felt. Clint's life had been full of Doms who had mistreated him, let him down. Maybe after a while, when Clint had had some time to get to know him better, maybe the care and trust that he knew Clint had for him would grow into love. Phil hoped it would, and in the meantime, he wouldn't press Clint, would try not to say it too often, and would hear the deep caring and affection Clint had for him in the 'I'm yours' that was still being murmured in his ear. 

Phil kissed the side of Clint's neck, very gently, on the large red mark that bore the imprints of his teeth. It would turn dark purple over the next couple of days, the first mark of many like it that Phil intended to make. Slowly, he started to move. He levered himself off Clint, his soft cock sliding easily out of Clint's ass. He eased out from under Clint's raised thigh, letting Clint drop his leg back to the mattress. He reached over to the nightstand for a wad of tissues and did a rudimentary clean up. He shoved the lube bottle and tissues off the bed. He heaved himself onto his back, arranged a pillow comfortably under his head, and then patted Clint's arm.

"Come here." 

It took Clint no time at all to snuggle into Phil's embrace, pillowing his head on Phil's shoulder and burying his fingers in the damp fuzz on Phil's chest. Clint tilted his head up so that he could look at Phil, who was gazing fondly down at him, stroking his arm with one hand while the other held him close.

"Thank you, that was perfect," Clint said, with a small, sweet smile.

"Good, I'm glad. It was perfect for me too." Phil held back the 'I love you' that came next. Instead he said, "You're mine, now. Truly mine."

"Yes. Yes, Phil, I'm yours."

Phil stroked his arm some more.

"Go to sleep."

"Yes, sir," Clint said, with a tired grin, and this time he didn't resist. He was happy to let sleep claim him, now that he was exactly where he wanted to be. But just as he was drifting off, he thought he heard Phil whisper very softly,

"I love you."

'Love you too, Phil,' Clint thought, and his lips might have twitched against Phil's chest, as he snuggled closer and fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Phil woke up with Clint draped across him, warm and heavy and relaxed. Phil smiled. He loved waking up like this, with his Sub curled around him or draped over him in sleep, and it was especially sweet with Clint, who never seemed to relax completely when he was awake. Phil spent a very pleasant five minutes thinking about lazy Sunday afternoons cuddled up on the sofa watching movies; about simple, easy, satisfyingly vanilla sex; about Clint's almost child-like, wide-open smile. About how he planned to make Clint smile like that as often as he possibly could. 

Phil slowly, gently stroked one hand up Clint's back to his neck. He ran his fingers along the edge of the collar, bumping over the buckle and the two small matte-black D-rings on either side of it. He felt Clint stir and hooked the tip of one finger under the leather, tightening the collar just a tiny fraction, wanting it to be the first thing Clint was aware of as he woke. He felt Clint wake up: his breathing changed and he tensed for a moment, and went perfectly still while he assessed where he was. Then he relaxed again, and the arm around Phil's chest tightened, holding on snugly.

"Morning," Phil whispered, dropping the first of many kisses into Clint's hair.

"Morning," Clint answered. Then, “Thank you."

"For what?"

"For holding me by the collar as I woke up; letting me know it's really there, that last night wasn't a dream."

"It's really there. You're really mine."

Clint's arm tightened around Phil further for a moment, and then relaxed.

"I didn't hurt you last night, did I?" Phil asked, tugging on the collar a little bit to make it clear what he meant before slipping his finger out and stroking the skin just above it.

"No, Phil, of course you didn't. It was wonderful. It was perfect."

"Good." Phil dropped another kiss on the top of Clint's head. He heard a low rumble from Clint's stomach and remembered that Clint had barely managed a single slice of pizza for supper last night. 

"Stay here. Go back to sleep for a bit, if you like. I'll be back soon," Phil said, starting to shift out from under Clint's warm embrace. Clint made a disappointed noise, but Phil just patted his back and moved more quickly. 

Once Phil had slipped out of bed, Clint rolled over into the warm spot, and buried his face in Phil's pillow, taking a deep inhale of the smell of Phil's hair. 

'I'm his. He collared me. I'm wearing his collar. That means I'm his.' Clint moved one hand up to trace the point of the collar in the hollow of his throat. He pictured the plaque with the two arrowheads meeting, and the one opposite it, heart-shaped, with Phil's initials engraved on it. Clint desperately wanted to see what he looked like wearing it, and considered getting out of bed to look in the mirror. But Phil had told him to stay in bed. He wasn't sure how firm of an order it was, but he didn't want to risk disobeying Phil on the very first morning as his Sub. He could wait to see what the collar looked like around his neck. He'd have plenty of opportunities to see it, he'd be wearing it for a very, very long time. For the rest of his life, he hoped.

Clint heard clattering sounds coming from the kitchen, rather than the expected sound of the shower from the bathroom. He heard the coffee maker gurgle and the toaster pop. It sounded like Phil was making breakfast. Clint thought that he should get up and help. Then he thought he should stay where he was, because Phil had told him to stay in bed. Clint was really looking forward to being clearer on the rules, on what was expected of him, on what he was and wasn't allowed to do on his own initiative.

'Take it easy,' he admonished himself. 'You've been collared for a whole 10 hours. Don't freak out about the rules. Phil said it would take a while to work things out. And besides, he pretty clearly told me to stay here, so that's what I should do.' Clint rolled onto his back, stuck his arms behind his head, and tried to relax as he listened to the sounds coming from the kitchen.

It was another five minutes before Phil appeared at the bedroom door, carrying a tray. He put it on the dresser, and when Clint started to move he said,

"Stay."

Phil came over to the bed and grabbed a couple of pillows, propping them up against the headboard, then he patted the spot in front of them.

"Okay, sit up here, and make yourself comfortable." It was clear to Clint that it was an order, not a suggestion, so he didn't protest or ask any of the questions that were running through his head. He sat up and made himself comfortable against the pillows at his back.

"Good," Phil nodded approvingly, and it sent a tiny thrill through Clint. He hoped he'd never get tired of, or used to, that feeling: the little glow he felt whenever Phil praised him for doing something right.

Phil picked up the tray and folded out its legs, then put it across Clint's lap, snug up against his belly. Phil climbed onto the bed carefully, so as not to jostle the tray, and straddled Clint's thighs, easing himself down and distributing his weight carefully to avoid putting too much pressure on Clint's knees.

"Is that okay?" Phil asked once he was settled.

"Yes, sir, it's fine." The breakfast tray held two cups of coffee and two glasses of orange juice, one large plate heaped with waffles that were swimming in butter and syrup, and one small dish of fruit salad. And one knife and one fork, sitting neatly side-by-side on a napkin, of course. Clint looked at the tray, wondering whose food was whose.

"Hands on your thighs, and don't move them," Phil ordered. Clint did as he was told, sliding his hands under the tray and onto his thighs. Phil picked up the knife and fork and cut a square of waffle. He dragged it through the syrup, and then held the forkful of food out towards Clint. Without thinking, Clint brought up his right hand to take the fork from Phil.

"Ah!" Phil warned sharply. "Hands on your thighs, or under them, if you can't remember not to move them."

"Sorry, sir." Clint put his hand back down, and then looked up at Phil, confused. Phil was holding the forkful of waffle out towards him again.

"Open up. I'm not planning on making choo-choo train noises for you." Clint opened his mouth, still not sure what was going on, until the syrup dripped off the bite of waffle onto his tongue and he closed his mouth reflexively. Phil pulled the fork back, and started to cut another piece.

Clint was chewing and swallowing the food out of habit, while trying to process the fact that Phil was feeding him. Once he'd swallowed the mouthful, a small whimper came from his throat as he watched Phil raise the next forkful towards him. Phil heard the sound and looked into his eyes. He put the knife down and cupped Clint's cheek in his hand.

"It's okay, Clint, I've got you. I want to do this for you, okay?"

Clint didn't trust his voice, so he just nodded, hoping Phil would think that was enough. 

"Good. They're just toaster waffles," he said, dragging the bite of waffle through the syrup on the plate, before holding it up again for Clint to take. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook."

"They're delicious, sir," Clint said after he'd chewed and swallowed the bite. He watched, relieved, as Phil took the next forkful for himself. Phil feeding him and not eating himself would have made Clint very uncomfortable. 

The tiny whimpering noise that Clint had made when he realized he was being fed had nearly broken Phil's heart, and seeing Clint relax when he had taken a mouthful of food for himself made him sad and angry at the same time. He knew Clint had had Doms who’d used starvation as punishment; Clint had been almost clinically malnourished when he'd started at SHIELD. Seeing and hearing Clint's reactions, Phil now understood why being fed was one of his most cherished wishes. Food meant comfort and safety and love to everyone, but it meant more than that to Clint. It meant he was good, it meant he was valued, it meant he was worthy. 

Phil saw Clint glance at one of the coffee cups. 

"Do you want some of your coffee, Clint?"

"Yes please, sir." Clint carefully kept his hands on his thighs and Phil smiled a small smile at him as he picked up the cup. Phil put one hand on the back of Clint's neck and brought the cup up to his lips. It wasn't the first time Phil had given Clint a drink. On missions, there had been times where Phil had helped him drink from a canteen or a bottle of Gatorade. More than once, when Clint had ended up in Medical, Phil had held the ubiquitous plastic cup and straw for him to drink. He tipped the cup of coffee up carefully to let Clint sip, then down again. He waited for Clint to swallow, and to see if he wanted more. Clint swallowed, and then looked up at him under his lashes, almost shyly. Phil tipped the cup up a fraction, and Clint pursed his lips to sip again. Then he put the cup back down on the tray, and went back to feeding Clint, and himself, bites of waffle. 

"This syrup is different from the kind in the SHIELD cafeteria,” Clint said, licking a dribble off his chin.

"It's genuine maple syrup, from Vermont."

"It's really good."

"We never had real maple syrup when I was a kid because it was too expensive. I had it for the first time after I got out of the army. I took some time off and went camping and hiking in New England for a month. The diners in Vermont and upstate New York all served real maple syrup with their pancakes and waffles, so when I started working for SHIELD, it was one of the luxuries I allowed myself. We'll go to Vermont some time, on holiday. Rent a cottage or a room at a B&B for a few days. It's really beautiful in the fall."

"I... I didn't know your family was poor,” Clint said, and then looked stricken when he realized what had come out of his mouth. But Phil didn't react at all, except to explain.

"Not poor, exactly, but not rich. Lower middle class, I guess. My dad was a schoolteacher and my mother didn't work, so raising three kids on a teacher's salary, money was tight. We always had plenty of food and the clothes we needed, but not much else in the way of extras or luxuries."

Phil drank his own coffee and juice, fed Clint his orange juice and the rest of his coffee, and between them they wiped the plate clean of waffles and syrup. Then he picked up the small bowl of fruit salad. Clint looked at it and raised an eyebrow. 

"You often have fruit salad when you're eating in the cafeteria, so I assumed you liked it."

Clint smiled, feeling another warm glow when he realized that Phil had been paying enough attention to him to know what was usually on his lunch tray.

"I do like it; I kinda had to learn to, though. When I started at SHIELD the doc made me see the nutritionist, and she taught me a bunch of stuff about how to eat better so that I'd be able to put on muscle faster. She was always after me to eat more fruits and vegetables—and French fries don't count as vegetables, apparently—so I started having the fruit salad in the cafeteria every day at lunch, so that I could tell her that I was eating fruit. I got to like it, eventually, so I still have it all the time."

Clint looked down at the tray for a spoon and didn't see one. He looked back up to see Phil fishing a chunk of melon out of the bowl with his fingers, and holding it up to Clint's lips. Phil was looking at him with an intensity that went far beyond food, and Clint held his gaze as he opened his mouth to accept the piece of fruit. Phil’s fingers brushed Clint's lips as he slipped the morsel into his Sub's mouth. 

Phil feeding him the waffles had been nice. More than nice, it had been wonderful. Watching Phil cut each piece, drag it through the syrup, and then hold it up for him to take from the fork, had made him feel loved and cared for in a way he'd never experienced before. But this, Phil picking up a piece of fruit with his fingers and sliding into Clint's open mouth, this wasn't just caring, it was sensuous and erotic as well. It was everything: caring, and love, and sex, all rolled into one. Clint thought it might be the most intimate thing he'd ever experienced. The next piece Phil fed him was a slightly mushy piece of kiwi, and once the fruit was past his lips, Clint slipped his tongue out to lick the traces of pulp off Phil's fingers. Phil let him, leaving his fingers on Clint's bottom lip while he lapped the last traces of sweetness from them. 

Three pieces later, Clint sucked Phil's fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them, ostensibly to lick the traces of juice off them. A few pieces after that, when the bowl was nearly empty, Phil let his fingertips rest on Clint's lips while he chewed and swallowed, gently tracing their outlines until it was time to dip his fingers into the bowl once more. By the time the dish was empty, the air between them was charged, and Clint was thinking about asking if he could suck Phil's cock next. 

Phil took a long, slow breath and moved the breakfast tray aside. 

"Give me your hands," he said. Clint lifted his hands off his thighs and put them, warm and slightly sweat-damp, into Phil's. Phil brought them to his lips and kissed Clint's knuckles, left hand and then right, and then put Clint's hands back down in his lap. Phil ran his hands up Clint's arms to his shoulders, his right hand travelling a extra few inches up Clint's neck to brush across the edge of the leather collar and then press lightly into the large purpling bruise that bore the imprints of Phil's teeth. Clint made a low noise of appreciation. 

Phil slid his hands back down Clint's arms and lightly circled Clint's wrists with his fingers.

"Here's what's going to happen for the rest of this weekend: I am going to spend it claiming you. Which means you'll be spending most of it in my cuffs, and tied to the bed. I'm going to mark almost every inch of your skin with my whips and my hands and my teeth, and I'm going to fuck you as often as I can get it up."

Clint moaned. Phil tightened his hands on Clint's wrists.

“For the rest of this weekend, I want to do everything for you; while I claim you as mine. Everything. Will you let me do that, Clint?”

“Yes, sir.” Clint wasn’t sure what ‘everything’ would entail, but having Phil feed him all weekend, and maybe wash him again, would be wonderful.

“Thank you. From now until I say otherwise, you don't move unless I tell you to, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir. Um, sir?"

"Yes?"

"I, uh... I kinda need to piss."

"Can you hold it for a couple of minutes?"

"Sure, a couple."

"Okay, good. Stay there."

Phil climbed off the bed and went to his toy cabinet. He pulled open the drawer that held his cuffs and belts and straps, and started to pile things on the bed. Clint's eyes grew wide as the pile of leather cuffs and straps got bigger, and bigger. Phil pulled out bundles of rope, and a handful of carabineers. Then he picked one pair of cuffs up off the pile, and came back around to Clint's side of the bed.

"Give me your arms." Clint held out his arms and watched as Phil efficiently buckled the thick leather cuffs onto his wrists, fastening them snug. Once they were on Clint sighed; he felt so safe and secure wearing Phil's cuffs.

"Okay, come on." Phil backed up to let Clint climb out of bed, and followed him into the bathroom. Phil was standing right behind him as he stepped up to the toilet, and ordered, "Hands on your thighs. When I said I was going to do everything for you, for the rest of the weekend. I meant it. Everything.”

"But, sir...."

"Do it, Clint." Phil used his velvet-over-steel command voice, the one that Clint now obeyed almost without thought. He put his hands on his thighs and fought to keep his bladder under control. Phil's hands came around from behind him. One circled his chest, holding him close, while the other stroked down his belly to his groin, then picked up his dick, and aimed.

"Okay, go ahead."

"Phil... sir. I can't, not with you holding it for me."

"Yes you can." Phil gave a tiny squeeze of encouragement.

"But, sir, you said that... you said that I could touch my dick to wash and to piss." A note of fear crept into his voice. Phil had said... 

"This is just for this weekend, Clint, I promise. Just for today and tomorrow. I'm going to do everything for you this weekend. I'm going to feed you and wash you and hold your dick while you piss. I'm going to tell you when to move and when to be still and when to sleep. I want you to surrender to me completely, just for this weekend, while I claim you. I want you to give me everything, Clint, just for today and tomorrow. Will you do that for me?"

Phil's voice was soft and seductive in Clint's ear. Charged, like the silence had been when Phil was feeding him the fruit. Phil was asking for him to surrender completely. To give control of his body over to Phil, even for this most basic thing.

"Just... just this weekend?" Clint's voice trembled as he asked. He had to ask.

"Just until Sunday evening, Clint. You have my word. I want this from you."

Clint took a deep breath in, and felt Phil's arm tight around his chest. He let it out slowly, and relaxed his bladder. It felt much better than it should, it felt halfway to an orgasm. He relaxed in Phil's embrace, and Phil rewarded him with a soft kiss to the side of the neck.

"Good. Very good, Clint. I know that wasn't easy."

Warmth bloomed in Clint's chest at the praise. Of course he would give Phil anything he wanted, anything he asked for. No matter how hard it was. He belonged to Phil, now. Phil had sworn to take care of him, and Clint had sworn to obey. Being good for Phil made him happy. Made him proud.

Phil kissed the side of his neck again, and then nipped gently with his teeth.

"I want you to go back to the bedroom, and kneel by the bed. I'll be there in a minute." Phil loosed his arms and Clint reluctantly stepped out of the embrace. He did as he was told, though, and went to kneel by the bed. He heard the bathroom door close and the toilet flush and he figured that Phil was taking care of his own needs. 

Clint looked at the pile of leather cuffs and straps on the bed. There were more in the pile than last time Phil had tied him up, he was pretty sure, and last time he hadn't been able to move anything other than his head, so this was going to be... interesting. 'I'm going to mark almost every inch of your skin,' Phil had said. Clint wondered if he'd get to choose the implements, like last time, or if Phil would just go with his own favorites. Phil had mentioned his whip, and Clint hoped Phil would use the heavy flogger on him too — it felt so good on his back. Clint heard Phil come out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, but he didn't turn to look. He waited, patiently, for Phil to tell him what to do next..

"You look gorgeous like that; kneeling, waiting for me, wearing my collar. I'm looking forward to seeing you walking through the halls at Headquarters on Monday wearing it. My collar, and my marks. Everyone will be able to see how I've claimed you, Clint. Everyone is going to know you're mine."

"Yes sir. Yes please, sir." Clint heard the pride in Phil's voice and it warmed him like the sun coming out on a cloudy day. 

"Stand up." Clint rose smoothly to his feet. Phil reached over and sorted through the pile of cuffs and straps. He pulled out two large, wide cuffs. 

"Left arm." Clint held out his left arm, which already had a cuff at the wrist. Phil spread open the leather in his hand and fitted it around Clint's upper arm, just above the elbow. He buckled it snug.

"Okay?" Phil asked. Clint flexed his bicep. It made the leather creak, but felt fine.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Right arm." Phil buckled on the other cuff. Next went the wide belt around his waist, then cuffs around his thighs, just above his knees. Once that was done,

"Kneel again for me now."

Clint knelt. He felt the cuffs at his wrists and arms, at his thighs, and the belt around his waist. They were snug and quickly warming to the temperature of his skin. Phil was going to mark him, hopefully to flog him or whip him, and then maybe even fuck him again. Clint's dick started to fill in anticipation as he watched Phil set the leather straps in place across the mattress and fasten them to the tie-points on the sides of the bed. 

"Climb up onto the bed, and kneel facing the headboard."

Cuffs went around his ankles. Phil ran one hand from ankle to knee, and then up the back of his thigh. 

"Move up to the strap and spread your knees." Clint shuffled forward a couple of inches so that his knees touched the leather strap that ran tightly across the mattress at about shoulder-height. Phil pressed close to Clint's back and reached down to fondle his dick, half-hard and hanging heavy between his legs.

"Reach up and grab the bars of the headboard. Hands as far apart as you can manage." Phil slid his hand up to the small of Clint's back and let it sit there warmly while he backed off a little, assessing. 

"Yes, that looks good. You look good." Clint's knees were spread wide on the bed, about two feet from the headboard. He was gripping the bars widely, at shoulder height, leaning forward slightly. Phil clipped the cuffs above Clint's knees to the leather strap, anchoring them in position. Then he grabbed short lengths of rope and tied the cuffs on Clint's wrists securely to the bars he was holding. 

"I'm going to the cabinet to get the flogger, Clint. I won't go any further away from you than that."

"I'm fine, sir,” Clint said, speaking for the first time in long minutes. His body was thrumming in anticipation. The skin on his back prickled and itched, waiting for the kiss of Phil's flogger. 

Phil opened his cabinet to retrieve the heavy flogger. He wasn't going to bother 'warming up' with the lighter one, now that he knew more about Clint's preferences and tolerances. He also chose a medium-sized butt plug and grabbed a new bottle of lube. He dropped those two items near Clint's right knee, and then climbed up onto the bed behind him. Phil put the flogger down on the mattress and pressed up behind Clint again, running his hands over Clint's chest and abdomen, down his thighs, and back up to his chest, kissing the back of Clint's neck all the while. Clint sighed and pressed as far back as he could into the warmth of Phil's chest. 

"So beautiful. So good for me. I'm going to hit you hard, Clint, just the way you like it. I'm going to mark you beautifully, and then I'm going to fuck you." Phil thrust a mostly-hard cock along the crack of Clint's ass and between his legs, bumping Clint's balls with the head of his cock, and drawing a moan.

"Yes, sir. Yes please, sir," Clint said, breathless with arousal and anticipation.

"Good. Keep your head down for me." With one last kiss to the back of Clint's neck, Phil moved back and picked up the flogger. Kneeling on the bed wasn't the most stable position to be doing this, but the mattress was firm and Phil knew that Clint wouldn't move. Phil wouldn't chance doing this with his thick whip, but as long as Clint kept his head down, there was no real danger from the flogger. Besides, the extra effort of keeping his balance strong and his aim perfect would take all his concentration, and distract him from how much he wanted to fuck his Sub. Just seeing Clint tied like this made Phil want to forget about the flogger and bury his hard cock in that perfect ass, but he wanted this too. He wanted to give Clint the proper flogging he'd been hesitant to dish out four nights previously. He wanted to see the marks. He wanted to hear Clint grunt and sigh and moan. And most of all he wanted to press himself into the marks he had made while he fucked Clint, after. 

Phil started to swing the flogger, lightly at first, but building quickly to heavier strikes. He watched Clint carefully as he rained blows on the thick, broad muscles of Clint's back, looking for signs of strain in his arms, thighs, the back of his neck, but finding none. 

He paused anyway, putting the flogger down and shuffling up the mattress to lay his hands on Clint's reddened back.

"How are you doing?" he asked, running his hands, fingers splayed wide, down across the light red stripes left by the flogger.

"Good, sir. Great. More, please?"

"Yes, in a minute." Phil shuffled closer and pressed his chest up against Clint's back, feeling the heat that the light bruising was throwing off. He ran his hands over Clint's chest now, more soothing than arousing, wanting to simply touch Clint, and reassure him. Phil whispered in Clint's ear, "You're doing so well, Clint. So very well for me. Taking this beautifully.” Then moved his lips to a spot on Clint's neck just below his ear and started to lick and nip.

"Love it, sir. Love taking it for you. Love it when you hit me. Feels so good. So good, sir." And then the words dissolved into a moan as Phil bit down on Clint's neck, and sucked a mark into his skin. Phil's hands continued to roam over Clint's chest and abdomen, lightly stroking along ribs, sharply pinching nipples, and occasionally dipping low to cup Clint's balls or run a single finger along the underside of Clint's hard dick.

After a minute, Phil moved back and picked up the flogger again. He started in hard immediately, and hit carefully and methodically until he had painted bright red stripes over the entire surface of Clint's back. This time, when he dropped the flogger and shuffled up to Clint, he ran his fingers over the marks again and again, pressing lightly on some of the more distinct stripes, drawing a sigh or a moan from Clint when he did. Then Phil moved closer, slotting his dick into the space between Clint's spread legs and thrusting just a little, rubbing himself to full hardness on Clint's ass and balls. 

"Going to fuck you now, Clint. Just like this. Going to open you up and then fuck you nice and hard."

"Yes please sir, Phil. Please." Pressed up against his Sub, Phil could feel Clint straining not to move, could see his fingers tightening on the rails of the headboard with the effort. 

“You’re being so good for me Clint, so very good.” Phil kissed the side of his face, the side of his neck, the top of his shoulder, as Clint mumbled ‘Please,’ and ‘sir,’ and ‘Phil.’

Phil picked up the lube and coated his fingers, then pressed two of them very slowly into Clint's hole. Clint sighed and moaned. Phil ran his free hand over Clint's chest and down to his hard dick, then fastened his teeth to a spot on the thick trapezius muscle on Clint's shoulder. As he added a third finger, stretching Clint open, and played with his dick, making him moan, Phil bit down hard, hard enough to break the skin and leave another set of distinct marks. 

Phil was nearly out of his mind with want. Last night, fucking Clint for the first time, had been about love and possession, about collaring his Sub and claiming him. They had both been overwhelmed and emotional. Now, though, Phil could indulge in pure, animalistic lust. He could simply take what was his, satisfying his need, quenching his fire in Clint's beautiful, pliant, willing body.

Phil released the bite, withdrew his fingers, quickly spread some more lube on his cock, and then positioned himself. He speared Clint with one hard thrust, making his Sub cry out. Clint started to plead,

"Fuck me hard. Phil please, fuck me hard. As hard as you can, please, sir. Please."

Phil didn't answer with words, instead he licked a spot on the back of Clint's neck, just above the buckle of his collar, and bared his teeth once more. He scraped the skin once, making Clint shiver in anticipation, and bit down. Then he started to thrust, setting a hard, fast, punishing rhythm almost immediately. He moved his hands to Clint's hips, wrapping strong fingers around the jut of bones and gripping hard as he thrust.

"Yes, Phil, yes," screamed Clint as Phil fucked him, pounding hard, taking, claiming, possessing. 

Phil roared as he came, releasing the back of Clint's neck, and then shuddered to stillness inside him. Phil rested his forehead on Clint's shoulder for a minute while he got his breath back. Once he did, he kissed Clint gently on each of the two new bite marks, then released his grip on Clint's hips, and reached over to untie the ropes that bound Clint's hands to the headboard. 

"Relax and shake out your arms, but otherwise don't move."

Phil kissed the marks on Clint's neck again while Clint brought his arms down and rolled his shoulders. 

"Now down." Phil put one hand on the back of Clint's neck and pushed firmly, indicating that Clint should bend forward and put his head down on the mattress, leaving his butt, with Phil's softening dick still buried to the hilt, up in the air. 

"Good." Phil retrieved the bottle of lube and picked up the butt plug he'd left on the bed earlier. He coated the plug, and then shuffled back on his knees, sliding his dick out and the plug in.

"I'm going to keep you open and ready for me all weekend, Clint, so that I can fuck you as often as I want to. I'm going to fill you up with my come."

Clint moaned at the image of being filled up, the plug being slipped back in each time Phil came in his ass, holding Phil's come inside him. The feeling of being utterly possessed washed over him again, like it had the night before during the enema, and he couldn't hold back a whimper.

Phil was there immediately, crouching down beside him, one hand reassuringly warm on the back of his neck, Phil's thumb tracing the edge of the collar.

"What do you want, Clint?" Phil asked.

"Just... hold me?" Clint’s dick ached, but his heart ached more. He wanted Phil's arms around him more than he wanted to come.

"Of course." Phil gently guided him to lie down, then positioned the pillows and snagged the blankets. He urged Clint to snuggle into his arms and pulled the covers over them both. Clint melted into Phil's embrace, snuggling his face into the sweat-damp hair on Phil's chest and throwing one leg across Phil's hips in an effort to get as close to him as possible. Phil tightened his arms and Clint sighed in utter contentment. What had he done in his fucked-up life to deserve this? A wonderful, perfect Dom who whipped him so wonderfully, fucked him so perfectly, and then pulled him in close and made him feel cared for and... cherished. Clint was starting to truly understand what the word meant now, lying here in Phil's arms, his back throbbing deliciously, perfectly content. 

Phil kissed the side of his face, and Clint smiled and slid his hand up to Phil's shoulder, wrapping his fingers around the curve of Phil's muscles and stroking his thumb along Phil's collarbone. Phil kissed him again. Clint dozed. 

When he woke, some time later, both his back and his dick were throbbing. He stirred in Phil's arms, and tried not to thrust into the warmth of Phil's thigh, but Phil must have felt the small movement he made.

"Would you like to come?"

"Yes please, sir," Clint said, grateful and happy that Phil wanted to give that to him. 

"Roll over onto your back, then, and spread your legs."

Clint shifted over, following the small nudges Phil gave him to position his body. He realized that Phil was going to tie him down again, and he smiled, content. He was beginning to truly enjoy being tied down by Phil. His lingering fears had been swept away by Phil's care and attention, and the overwhelming trust Clint had for his Dom.

Sure enough, Phil retrieved a set of ropes and tied his ankles, then clipped the cuffs at his wrists to the D-rings on one of the leather straps that ran across the mattress, and the cuffs at the top of his thighs to another. Phil straddled Clint on his hands and knees, kissing his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead, his jaw, his neck. Kissing every mark he had already made on Clint's muscular shoulders. Licking his way down to Clint's nipples and sucking and gently biting at them. Kissing his way down Clint's ribs. Stopping at the base of Clint's ribcage and licking and nipping, then choosing a spot and sucking a mark into the skin there. 

Clint moaned under him, aroused and needy, but still languid enough from sleep that he didn't try to squirm or buck. Phil's lips moved down across taut ab muscles to the sharp point of one hip. He found the hollow above Clint's hipbone with his tongue and licked the warm, slightly salty, skin before fastening his lips to it and again sucking a mark. 

Clint had an image of what his body would look like by the end of the weekend, marked by Phil's lips and teeth and whips. Marked everywhere, everywhere Phil's mouth had bitten or sucked. The image made him moan, he had to stop himself from crying out.

Phil's lips were moving again, this time down to his inner thigh. Again Phil picked a spot, and licked it, but this time he used his teeth and bit down before sucking yet another bruise into Clint's skin. The sharp pinch of Phil's teeth on the sensitive skin of his inner thigh made Clint moan loudly.

"God, Phil. Yes. So good. Please sir, I want to come so bad sir, please."

Phil sucked hard at the skin under his lips, and Clint moaned and whined. When Phil released the suction, Clint gasped, and started to beg again, afraid that Phil would just go on making more and more marks.

"Please sir, please."

Phil moved his head just a little, and licked a long stripe up the underside of Clint's hard dick. 

"Fuck. Oh, god, Phil!" Phil's tongue on his dick felt incredible.

"You can come whenever you like, Clint. Don't worry about warning me," Phil said, and then took the leaking head in his mouth and started to suck. Clint felt like he was going to explode from pure pleasure. Phil was sucking his dick. Phil was licking around the head and taking the shaft into his mouth and sucking, hard. As hard as he had sucked on the marks he'd been making. It was almost too much. Clint moaned and whined again. He was so close, so close to coming into Phil's hot, wet mouth. It felt like Phil was pulling the orgasm out of him, drawing it up from his balls with the suction on his dick. 

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Clint's head snapped back and forth, his body needing some sort of release from the tightness of his restraints, the tightness in his balls, the tightness of Phil's mouth on his dick. 

Clint exploded into Phil's mouth and Phil sucked it down, easing off the pressure gradually until he was lightly licking the last drops from Clint's softening dick. Phil moved to untie Clint, releasing his ankles, thighs, and wrists, and then lay beside him and gathered Clint back into his arms. He pulled the blankets over them both and kissed Clint's cheek. 

"Thank you, sir, that was wonderful."

"I'm glad, I like making you feel good."

Clint snuggled closer, wrapping an arm around Phil's chest.

"I'm yours, sir," Clint said, trying to express what he felt when Phil held him like this and let him snuggle close.

"Yes. You're mine, and I'm yours."

"Sir?" Clint's head came up sharply to look at Phil.

"You're my Sub, and I'm your Dom,” Phil said, stroking one hand down Clint's flank.

Clint's eyes went wide as the implications of what Phil had just said sank in.

"I... I never thought of it that way."

"No, I can see that."

"You're my Dom."

"Yes."

"Mine, and no one else's."

"That's right," Phil said slowly, seriously. "Just yours."

"My Dom. Mine."

"Yes." Clint was still looking up from where his head had been resting on Phil's chest, into Phil's eyes. There was no mocking in Phil's expression, just a warm, open smile.

"I'm yours, and you're mine." Clint stared for a minute more and then broke into a wide smile. He snuggled his head back down onto Phil's chest, and sighed a deep, contented sigh. He dozed again.


	8. Chapter 8

Lunch was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cut into small triangles and fed to him by Phil between sips of chocolate milk. There was another trip to the bathroom, and then back to bed, where Phil strapped him down, whipped his ass red with riding crop and cane, and then fucked him again, taking him on hands-and-knees from behind. Phil made him hold position afterwards, and bit and sucked more marks into the backs of his thighs while he stroked Clint's dick with a firm, slick hand until he came, gasping and shouting and trembling.

The rest of the weekend proceeded in a similar fashion, with Phil biting, hitting, fucking, feeding, cleaning, cuddling and napping with Clint over and over until Sunday afternoon. After feeding Clint chicken nuggets for lunch, he ordered his Sub to stand at the foot rail of the bed.

Phil positioned Clint's body carefully where he wanted it, and then tied Clint's arms to the top of the rail. Even though he had been flogging, whipping, and caning various parts of Clint all weekend, he was still just as careful and thorough as he had been first thing Saturday morning. Once Clint was tied in place, Phil again ran his hands all over Clint's body, stopping to press his fingertips into the marks he had already made. Clint moaned and sighed when he did, aching pleasantly all over from Phil's ministrations. Phil kissed the back of Clint's neck, on a large bruise just above his collar.

"I'm going over to the cabinet to get my whip." 

"Yes sir," Clint said and smiled. He trusted Phil completely, but it still made him feel warm and cared for when Phil was careful with him like this. 

"Thank you sir," he said as Phil came back to the bed, drawing the thick woven tail of his whip through his hand to warm the leather and make it more supple. Phil had already used it on his chest, where he had four new parallel lines that carefully didn't overlap or intersect with the marks from earlier in the week. But now Phil was going to whip his back, and Clint knew it was going to be fantastic.

"I need you to promise me you'll use your safeword if you need to, Clint. I don't want to damage you — even temporarily. Don't let me go any further than what you can take and still be able to shoot properly tomorrow."

"I promise, Phil."

"Good. Get ready."

Clint rolled his shoulders once to loosen them, then tucked his head down without being told, and blew his breath out.

"Ready," he said.

There was a pause the length of two deep even breaths, and then Clint felt a stripe of pain explode across his back, high up on his shoulders. He had time to draw one full breath and exhale it again before the next strike, parallel to and just below the first. Clint moaned, and dragged in another lungful of air before the next hit. Phil seemed determined to place his strikes as close together as he could, so that what Clint felt was a sheet of pain creeping down his back. The fourth blow made him gasp and the fifth made him whimper.

"Clint, are you okay?"

"Green, sir."

"Okay. Let's take a break anyway." Phil put the whip down and stood behind Clint, laying his fingertips lightly on the newly raised welts. "Is that okay?"

"Yes..." Clint drew another shaky breath. "Yes, sir. It's good."

"Good. You're doing very well, Clint. Very well. I'm very proud of you." Phil's fingertips slid around to Clint's chest to rub and lightly pinch his nipples, then stroked downwards to his belly and dick. Phil played with his dick, rubbing and stroking lightly, building Clint's arousal to compete with the pain in his back. Clint moaned.

"Ready to start again?" Phil asked, giving Clint's dick a long, slow, gentle stroke.

"Yes sir. Yes please, sir."

"Okay. Head down." Clint bowed his head and Phil kissed the back of his neck before stepping back and picking up his whip.

The next strike made Clint howl. Phil paused, giving Clint the chance to gasp out his safeword, but Clint was quiet.

"Two more, and then we're done," Phil said.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Phil took careful aim and laid the last two blows on Clint's back in quick succession, then dropped his whip and moved to stand behind Clint, who was starting to tremble just a little.

"We're done. You did well, so very well for me, Clint,” Phil murmured into his ear as he ran his hands down Clint's arms and untied the cuffs from the bedrail. 

"Move slowly. Hold onto the rail if you need to. Climb onto the bed when you're ready."

"Yes, sir," Clint said. Phil's voice sounded like it was coming from far away. The pain in his back was exquisite and he was floating in a buzzing dimness where everything was softly out-of-focus. He felt loose and relaxed and content. He climbed up onto the bed and asked, forming his words carefully,

"How do you want me?"

"Knees and elbows," Phil said, standing by the side of the bed and watching him. Clint obeyed, planting his knees spread wide and putting his elbows down on the mattress, arms folded together so that he could drop his head onto them. He heard Phil moving around the bed, but didn't look. He expected Phil to clip his cuffs to the bed, and was surprised when instead Phil dropped a single short piece of rope near his head. 

"Look at you. So beautiful, covered in my marks." Phil reached out to trace the new lines of welts on Clint’s back, and Clint moaned at his touch. Phil spent a few minutes running his hands over Clint's neck, his shoulders, his back, his butt, and the backs of his thighs, stopping every now and then to push his fingertips into a mark. The little jolts of pain were wonderful and perfect and oh, so welcome as Clint drifted, eyes closed, submitting in his Dom's hands. 

Then Clint felt Phil's hand on the back of his collar. For a split second he was afraid Phil was going to unbuckle it, but then he heard the sound of rope being drawn through one of the small D-rings near the buckle.

"Arms out to the side, head all the way down," ordered Phil, his voice low and rough. Clint complied, lowering his shoulders to the mattress and spreading his arms out wide. He felt Phil tie the rope to the strap on the mattress and pull it tight.

"Is that okay?" Phil asked. 

Rather than answer immediately, Clint took a deep breath and let it out again. His head was turned to one side, cheek pressing into the soft sheets of Phil's bed. The rope’s pull on his collar was tightening it just a bit, but he could draw a full breath.

"It's fine sir," he said.

"Good. You're doing very well, Clint."

Warmth bloomed in Clint’s chest again at the praise, and he moaned as Phil's hands went again to his back and traced the whip marks over and over. As he did, Phil shifted so that his thighs were touching the backs of Clint’s, and he began to tease himself to full hardness by rubbing his cock between Clint's legs. Clint moaned again. Phil was going to fuck him while he was tied down by his collar. Just his collar, and nothing else, but somehow Clint felt more completely restrained than he had all weekend. The snug pull on his neck dragged him deep down, down to where there was no thought, no worry, nothing but sensation and acceptance. He was Phil's, and Phil was using him, and everything was perfect.

Hearing Clint's moans as he traced the marks on his back was music to Phil's ears. The sight in front of him was breathtaking. Clint's ass high in the air, ready for him; his face on the mattress, eyes closed, expression blissful; and the beautiful canvas of his skin covered in the proof of Phil's claim. He thrust slowly into the warm smooth skin between Clint's thighs, moaning quietly as he drank Clint in with all of his senses. 

"So beautiful, so good for me. I'm so glad you came to me, Clint. So glad you let me know you wanted this. You make me so happy, Clint. I love you so much." The words slipped out, and Phil couldn't bring himself to regret them. He meant them, with all his heart, and Clint deserved to know that. 

Clint moaned again, though whether in response to Phil's words, or because he was still tracing the marks on Clint’s back with his fingers, Phil had no idea. It didn't matter. Phil loved his Sub, and hoped that his Sub might eventually love him in return; but Clint was his, freely given, freely vowed. That was all Phil needed. That and to be able to continue looking at, touching, and fucking the gorgeous pliant body beneath him.

Phil slid the fingers of one hand between Clint's butt cheeks and grasped the base of the plug that Clint had been wearing for most of the weekend. He rocked the plug a couple of times, nudging Clint's prostate with it and drawing yet more delicious moans from him. Then Phil tugged it gently out and put it aside. 

"Going to fuck you now. Going to fuck you good and deep."

"Yes. Phil. God. Yes. Please."

"You're not to come, Clint," Phil said, grasping one of Clint's hips in tight fingers and using the other hand to slick himself up with lube and then guide the head of his dick to Clint's open hole.

"Oh, God. Sir, fuck me please sir, please."

Phil had no reason to deny Clint and drove in, filling Clint's ass in one thrust. 

"Yes fuck me fuck me hard please sir hard..." Clint was whining and babbling, but he didn't move an inch. Even though he was only restrained by his collar, he didn't try to push back. Phil smiled.

"So good for me, Clint. So obedient. I'm going to give you what you want, Clint, because you're so good for me,” Phil said, leaning over Clint and wiping the lube off his hand onto the sheets. He grabbed Clint's other hip in a bruisingly tight grip, and started to thrust hard.

Clint got the pounding he was begging for, and Phil was exhausted and spent by the end of it. He almost collapsed onto Clint's back after shouting his release, instead putting his hands on Clint's biceps to reassure him, and murmur in his ear how good he was, how perfect and wonderful. Once he caught his breath, Phil found the butt plug and the lube, and replaced it as he withdrew.

"Come here and nap with me for a bit, Clint, and then we'll take a shower." 

Clint was still hard, but he didn't whine or protest, he just crawled into Phil's arms and snuggled back onto his chest. 

"So good for me," Phil murmured once more, kissing Clint's shoulder lightly on a spectacular bruise, and then he drifted off to sleep. 

He woke an hour or so later, aware that Clint was awake and holding still, trying not to disturb. Phil stroked one hand down Clint's back to let him know his Dom was awake. Clint sighed and stretched, his hard dick digging into Phil's thigh.

"I'd like to come, please sir," Clint said shyly.

"Not quite yet. Soon. Time for us to get up and take a shower. Sit up for me." Clint did and Phil lifted one of his hands, kissed the fingers once, and started to unbuckle the cuff around Clint's wrist.

Clint made a small sound of dismay.

"I know, I don't like taking them off either, but it's time." 

"I... the collar stays on, though, right?" Clint asked with a touch of fear in his voice.

"Of course it does, Clint. Of course," Phil said, unbuckling the cuff around Clint's upper arm and then picking up his other hand. "It's yours, Clint. I gave it to you. I will never take it off you unless you ask me to."

"I don't want you to. Not ever. I guess I'll have to sometimes, for missions. I'm not looking forward to that." Clint rubbed his wrists. They felt naked after less than two days in cuffs, he could imagine how bare his neck was going to feel the first time he had to take the collar off. "Um, so when I do have to, for missions or training or whatever, what do you want me to do?"

"That's a good question. We should decide that together. How would you like to handle it?"

"Well, if it's a mission that's planned in advance, maybe I could come to your office, and you could keep it there, in your desk maybe, until the mission is over?"

"That sounds like a very good idea. What about emergencies?"

"Well, even in an emergency, I'd always be going to my locker for my gear, so it would be safe enough to leave it there, I guess. I'll give you my locker combination, just in case."

Phil nodded, and raised his hand to run his fingertips along Clint’s skin where it met the top edge of the collar. Clint shivered.

"I want you to remember, Clint, that it's just a piece of leather, and it can be replaced. You're mine for as long as you want to be, whether you're wearing it or not. I absolutely forbid you to ever take any risks or chances by wearing it when you shouldn't. If you have to leave it behind to protect yourself, I want you to promise me that you'll do that. Your safety is much more important to me. Do you understand?"

Phil was looking into Clint's eyes, his face and words serious. Clint swallowed and nodded. 

"I understand, sir. I promise. I won't take any stupid risks. I'll leave it behind if I need to."

"Thank you. Now let's get these off." Phil quickly unbuckled the belt around Clint's waist and the cuffs around his thighs and ankles. He swept the pile onto the floor at the foot of the bed and led Clint to the bathroom. 

"Let me do everything," he said, then he adjusted the water, got out some clean towels, and motioned Clint to step into the bathtub. Phil followed him.

"Tell me if the water is hurting your back," he said as he adjusted the shower spray.

"No, it's fine. It feels good." The water hitting his back was causing a wonderful deep ache and Clint sighed, letting the hot steam relax him. Phil put his arms around Clint's waist and said,

"Hold on to me. Lean on me if you want to. Just relax and let me take care of you."

"Yes sir," Clint mumbled into Phil's shoulder, putting his arms around Phil and pressing up against the wet warmth of his skin.

Phil soaped up a washcloth and then grasped the plug in Clint's ass.

"Relax and let it go," Phil said as he drew it out. Clint felt Phil's come trickling out of him and whined a little at the loss.

"Shhh. It's okay. You're mine now. For as long as you want to be, you're mine," Phil said as he washed Clint carefully, running the soapy cloth between his ass cheeks and down his thighs. 

"Forever," said Clint with an unaccustomed fierceness, holding on more tightly and repeating it louder and more clearly in Phil's ear. "Forever, Phil. I want to belong to you for the rest of my life."

Phil told himself that it was just the high of being collared and claimed; that Clint was being hyperbolic; that once they had been together a while, he might not feel the same way. Yet Phil couldn't help but feel a spark of hope at the fierceness in Clint's voice. 'Maybe one day he could love me, the way I love him.'

Phil dropped the washcloth into the corner of the tub and kissed Clint's cheek. 

"Ease up a little now, I'm going to wash you." He stepped out of Clint's tight embrace and picked up the bottle of shampoo. Phil methodically washed Clint's hair, then switched to a new soapy washcloth for his back, arms, and legs. 

"Now stand there for me for a minute." Clint watched as Phil quickly washed himself with a soldier's economy of both time and water. It was impressive, and made Clint smile.

"You're a badass at everything, sir," he said. "Even showering." 

"There wasn't a lot of water where I was stationed in Afghanistan. We learned to be fast. Okay, now turn around and lean into me again," he said, and Clint turned to face the spray, leaning gratefully back into Phil's embrace.

Phil carefully washed the bruises on Clint's neck, reminding himself that he'd need to check the bite marks where he'd broken the skin to make sure they didn't get infected. 

"The leather has been waterproofed," he said softly as he washed around Clint's collar, "I'll give you a bottle of conditioning oil to use on it as well."

Clint made a humming sound to indicate that he'd heard and understood, a signal that Phil was used to hearing over the comms on a mission. It was going to be interesting, heading out on missions with Clint now. Sending people he cared about into danger was something he'd come to terms with decades ago. It was never easy, but he knew how to deal with it. Going out on a mission with the calm solid certainty that Clint was his; that Clint would do everything in his power to come back to him, whole; and that no matter how badly things went, they would have each other at the end of the day — Phil was very much looking forward to that. 

Phil soaped the cloth again and washed Clint's chest, stomach and groin, quickly and efficiently, avoiding Clint’s half-hard dick. Then he tossed the cloth aside and soaped his hands. He put his slick, slippery fingers to Clint's nipples and started to rub and tease. Clint sighed.

Phil continued to tease Clint’s nipples until Clint started to writhe against him, head thrown back, begging for more.

"Hold yourself still," Phil ordered in his velvet-over-steel command voice, the last time he planned to use it tonight. Clint stilled.

In reward, Phil's soapy hands migrated down to Clint's stiff dick and tight balls. Clint moaned now, loudly, when Phil curled his fingers loosely around his hardness, but didn’t move. 

"Good. Very good. You may come now, Clint, whenever you like." Phil stroked his dick gently, just barely brushing slick, wet fingers over hot, tight skin. Phil's other hand fondled Clint's balls, cupping them and rolling them.

"Phil. So good. So good. Oh, God. Phil." Clint didn't move, didn’t thrust, held himself perfectly still and let Phil's light touches drive him closer and closer to the brink. 

"Please, sir. Please." Clint wasn't sure what he was begging for. He was so close to coming, but holding himself still was torture, and Phil's touches were almost enough, almost, almost... there. Clint came so hard his knees buckled a little and Phil quickly put an arm around him to steady him.

"I've got you," Phil murmured in his ear and held him tightly around the chest. Phil gave him a minute to recover and then reached out to turn the water off. 

"Get out and stand on the bathmat." Clint obeyed, following Phil's instructions without hesitation after 48 hours of Phil doing absolutely everything for him. Including, now, drying him with a big fluffy towel, and holding out a pair of sweatpants for him to step into.

"We're going to go sit on the couch for a bit. Are you going to be warm enough like that, or do you want a shirt?"

"I think I'd like a shirt," Clint said. "There's a long-sleeved grey Henley in my drawer. It's comfy."

"Socks?"

"No thanks."

"Okay, stay here a minute."

Phil disappeared into the bedroom for a couple of minutes and Clint could hear drawers opening and closing. Phil came back wearing an old pair of SHIELD-issue grey sweats that matched Clint's, an olive green t-shirt that said "Army" in faded lettering across the front, and white socks. Clint grinned at the domesticity of it as Phil handed him his shirt. 

"Go sit on the sofa. I'll be there in a minute."

Clint thought for a second about kneeling, instead, but he'd been told to sit, and besides, lounging on Phil’s big sofa wearing comfy clothes, warm and relaxed from a shower and a great orgasm, well, that sounded pretty damn awesome.

Phil headed to the kitchen and came back with a glass of juice for himself and a bottle of Gatorade for Clint. He dropped a stack of take-out flyers on the coffee table.

"The restrictions I gave you yesterday morning are lifted," Phil said formally, and then sat down next to Clint and pulled his Sub into his arms.

“How are you feeling?”

“Great sir. Phil. Great. Loose and warm and comfortable.” Clint was interrupted by a loud grumble from his stomach. “And hungry, I guess.”

“That’s not at all surprising. Choose whatever you want for dinner,” Phil said, smiling and gesturing at the stack of take-out flyers.

Clint picked up the flyers and leafed through them, deciding on Indian. Curry and rice and naan would fill the gnawing hole in his stomach nicely. Phil ordered the food and then switched on the TV, calling up the most recent episode of Dog Cops on his TiVo and coaxing Clint to relax back into his arms.

The food arrived half way through the episode.

“Pay for the food, will you,” Phil said, “while I get the plates from the kitchen. My wallet’s on the table in the hall.”

“I can pay for it,” Clint said, standing uncertainly in the hallway.

“Let me get this for now. We’ll work something out about sharing expenses soon, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Clint was relieved that Phil was going to let him pay his share. It would feel wrong to let Phil support him, even though that was the way some traditional Doms still insisted on doing things. Clint was reconciled to giving up much of his independence in exchange for being Phil’s Sub, but there were a few things he would have balked at, and being ‘kept’ was one of them. Especially since they were both well aware of each other’s SHIELD pay grades.

Clint paid and tipped the delivery kid what he figured was the high side of fair from the cash in Phil’s wallet, and, as he was putting it back down on the table, he suddenly realized the trust that Phil had in him. In Phil’s wallet were a couple of hundred dollars cash, his SHIELD ID, his personal and SHIELD credit cards, his driver’s license… and a number of other cards and bits of paper that Clint didn’t even consider glancing at. Phil had completely off-handedly told Clint to pay for the food out of his wallet. 

‘It’s probably because things happened so fast,’ Clint thought. ‘If we had dated for months, this kind of stuff would have happened gradually, and it would seem normal.’ But Clint realized that this was the first of what were sure to be many times that he would be struck by the fact that he and Phil were now… family. 

Once they’d eaten and watched the end of the show, Phil said,

“You’ve been so very good for me this weekend. You’ve done everything I’ve asked, given me everything I could have hoped for, and more. What we do for the rest of the evening is completely up to you, Clint. We’ll do anything you want. We could just watch TV, if that’s what you’d like, or if you want some time by yourself, to…” 

Clint shook his head ‘no’. 

“Thank you sir, but I know that… our time together isn’t always going to be like this, so I… uh… I’d like to make the most of it.” 

“Well, we can go back to bed if that’s what you’d like. If there’s something in particular you want that you didn’t get, or something you’d like to do to me. Would you like to fuck me, Clint?”

“Sir?” Clint’s eyes went wide.

“When I said you could have anything you wanted, I meant it. Would you like that?”

“I… I don’t know,” Clint said honestly. “I like the idea of going back to bed. Just being naked with you and…” his voice trailed off uncertainly.

“And what, Clint? Tell me what you’d like.” Phil’s words were gentle and he was smiling softly.

“I’d like… I’d like to touch you, sir. Everywhere… like you touched me the first night I came home with you. You wouldn’t need to hold still or anything… I just… I want to touch you, Phil.”

“That sounds very nice.” Phil stood up and reached for Clint’s hand. Clint glanced at the food containers and dishes on the coffee table. “They’ll keep until morning.”

Phil led Clint into the bedroom, and then stripped quickly out of his shirt, sweats, and socks. He climbed onto the bed and lay back in the middle, stuffing a pillow under his head.

“How’s this?” He smiled up at Clint, who was standing beside the bed, staring.

“That’s… that’s great.” Clint hurriedly stepped out of his clothes, but then slowed down as he joined Phil on the bed.

“I’m going to… um… start down here, okay?” Clint asked, positioning himself near Phil’s feet.

“It’s fine, Clint, whatever you want.”

Clint put a hand on Phil’s ankle, and then looked up to ask,

“Are you ticklish anywhere, sir?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Okay. Good.” Clint crouched down low and placed a soft kiss on the sole of Phil’s left foot. His eyes flicked up nervously, but Phil was just lying back with his eyes closed and a small contented smile on his face. Clint relaxed his hand on Phil’s ankle and let his fingers slide along the calf, tracing a jagged line of scar tissue. Clint didn’t ask, he just put his lips to the puckered skin, but Phil said,

“Shrapnel from an IED in Afghanistan. I spent three weeks at Landstuhl getting patched up before they sent me back to my unit.” Clint kissed the scar again, and then spent some time exploring the back of Phil’s knee with lips and tongue. He got a satisfied-sounding hum from Phil, and 

“That feels nice.” 

“Good,” said Clint, moving to Phil’s other leg and turning his attention to the sole of Phil’s right foot. He worked his way from foot to knee, murmuring between kisses,

“I want to make you feel good. Want to show you...” Clint trailed off and instead kissed his way up Phil’s legs, tracing the smooth curves of hard muscle with his fingers and tasting the sensitive skin of his inner thighs with a hot wet tongue. Phil shifted his legs further apart to give Clint better access as he started to nose at Phil’s balls. Clint spent a long time fondling Phil’s sac with tongue and fingers, as if he wanted to memorize the taste and feel and scent of his Dom. 

Eventually he turned his attention to Phil’s cock, lying soft on Phil’s right thigh. Clint gave the head a wide, loving lick.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to get it up again,” Phil said, reaching down with one hand to pet Clint’s hair.

“I know, I just want to taste you for a bit, if that’s all right?”

“It’s fine, Clint. It feels wonderful.”

“Good,” said Clint, and licked the head again before taking it into his mouth. Phil’s soft cock was warm and heavy in his mouth, and Clint could breathe easily around it. He drew in as much as he could, wrapping his arms around Phil’s thighs and burying his nose in the wiry hair. Clint felt himself slipping down. It was almost as good as Phil hitting him with the flogger, being able to sink into the taste and smell and feel of Phil, being able to just hold him like this and be. 

Phil’s cock twitched and tried to fill, hardening a little in Clint’s mouth. Clint didn’t suck or work it with his tongue or do anything other than swallow often enough so as not to drool. This wasn’t about sex, it was worship. Long minutes passed, and eventually Clint pulled slowly away, letting Phil’s cock slip out of his mouth. Then he started to kiss Phil’s stomach, dropping a line of kisses from pubic hair to navel, and then kissing and licking his way across Phil’s surprisingly well-defined ab muscles. Clint knew Phil put time in at the gym every day to stay field-ready, and it showed. He smiled as he ran his hands up to Phil’s ribcage and followed with his lips. 

There was another scar on the left side at the base of Phil’s ribcage, and as Clint kissed it, Phil explained,

“Knife. I zigged when I should have zagged. Got me just under the vest.”

“He must have been awfully good, sir. You’re fast.”

“She was awfully good. Best I’ve ever seen. I’m very lucky someone had my back that day.”

Clint kissed the scar once more and then continued up Phil’s ribs to his left nipple, which got a swipe of Clint’s tongue. Phil bucked.

“Go ahead, but go easy. They’re very sensitive.”

Clint was blanketing Phil’s body with his own, resting most of his weight on his knees and elbows. He eased himself down a fraction more, and teased Phil’s nipple with gentle lips. His attention drew a quiet moan from Phil, and he could feel Phil’s cock twitching and trying to harden. Clint kissed his way across Phil’s chest and licked his right nipple before drawing it into his mouth and suckling lightly. Phil moaned under him, and it drove Clint wild. 

When he had asked for this, all he wanted was to touch, to taste, to feel. To explore and get to know every inch of his Dom’s body, the way Phil had claimed his. Just the freedom to use his hands and his lips freely had been exhilarating, but now that he was drawing moans of pleasure from Phil, his dick rose to attention. He ignored it. There was something he wanted more, if Phil would allow it. Clint licked a path from Phil’s nipple to his collarbone and teased the hollow there with his lips and tongue, sucking a little harder than he had dared on Phil’s sensitive nipples. Phil threaded a hand into Clint’s hair, and Clint looked up.

“Would you like to leave a mark of your own?” Phil asked, his voice low and gravelly.

“Can I?”

“A small one, below the collar.”

Clint nodded, unable to trust his voice to say thank you. He couldn’t quite believe that Phil was going to accept being marked, but he’d offered. Clint’s dick was well aware that that wasn’t all Phil had offered, but he continued to resolutely ignore the pressure in his balls as he fastened his lips low on Phil’s neck. He didn’t use his teeth, didn’t bite at all, just drew the skin into his mouth and suckled, long and hard. Phil put his arms around Clint’s back, holding him close, signaling that he could take as much as he wanted. When Clint finally pulled back, he shifted his weight so that he could touch the mark lightly with his fingers.

“Thank you,” Clint said, looking up at Phil, “Thank you.” Clint scrambled a little higher so that he could take Phil’s mouth in a kiss, trying to express with actions what he couldn’t find words for. That Phil would give him this much, let him this close, trust him this entirely. Clint was overwhelmed again. He pulled back from the kiss and looked into Phil’s bright eyes.

“God, I love you so much Phil.”

Phil’s eyes went wide in surprise and his arms tightened around Clint.

“I… I should have said it earlier. I’m sorry. I just didn’t know how to explain.”

“Explain what?” Phil’s eyes now held concern, possibly even fear, and Clint found himself in the position of kissing and reassuring his Dom.

“Explain that I’ve loved you for a long time. Years even. Ever since… Remember that op in Croatia?”

“How could I forget? You got hurt when your perch collapsed under you. I was afraid we wouldn’t be able to get you to a doctor in time.” 

Clint’s leg had been badly gashed by a jagged piece of roofing tin and Phil had commandeered a jeep and driven at breakneck speed from the village they were using as a base to the nearest town with a medical clinic. 

“You didn’t leave my side. Not even when they operated. You insisted the doctor let you stay.” Clint remembered the pain from the gash in his leg, how scared he’d been, and Phil arguing with the doctor in broken German. 

“I knew you were probably scared, hell, anyone would have been. You deserved to have someone with you who could communicate with the doctor and nurses.”

“You didn’t leave me for two days. You slept in a chair next to my bed until the doc said I could travel.”

“You got hurt on my watch. I was responsible for you. I needed to know you were going to be okay. I didn’t want you to be alone in a strange place where no one spoke much English. I would have done the same for any member of my team.” 

“I know. That’s what I told myself, over and over.” Clint had eased himself down so that he was snuggled against Phil’s chest, and Phil was holding him tightly. “While I watched you sleep in a chair next to my bed. On the transport back. The whole next week I was laid up in Medical while they pumped me full of antibiotics and whatnot, and you visited me every day. The next month when I was back on duty and everything was normal and you treated me just the same. Just the same as any other member of your team.”

“I told myself that you didn’t feel anything special towards me. That you’d do the same for anyone. That taking care of your people was just part of who you were. But it didn’t do any good. I kept seeing you there, asleep in the chair by my bed, refusing to leave me alone in a strange place, and I fell in love with you.”

“Oh, Clint.” Phil brought up a hand and laid it softly on Clint’s cheek. “I had no idea. I knew you cared for me, you told me that, but I… I didn’t know if you actually could fall in love with me. I told myself that having you as my Sub was enough, even if you didn’t, or couldn’t, love me. I hoped that maybe, in time. But I’m so glad, Clint, I’m so glad. I love you so much.” 

Phil pulled him in for a kiss that started sweet and gentle and quickly turned passionate. Clint’s hard dick was trapped between their bodies and Clint couldn’t stop himself from thrusting a little into the soft skin of Phil’s belly.

“Clint,” Phil said when he pulled back from the kiss, “would you like to fuck me?”

“I… if you’d like it.”

“I’d like it very much, but I only want you to if it’s what you want, for you. Don’t say 'yes' just for me, Clint.” Phil’s words were soft but his eyes were serious.

“I’d like it, Phil. I’d like it very much. Like this? Face to face?”

“Yes please.” Phil reached for the nightstand and found a bottle of lube which he handed to Clint.

“I probably won’t get hard, or come, but I’ll still enjoy it, I promise. You’ll have to go slow.”

“I will,” Clint said fervently. “Slow as you need.” 

Clint kissed Phil again long and hard and deep before flipping open the bottle of lube and generously coating his fingers. He shifted to one side and Phil rolled onto his hip and hitched up his knee to give Clint access. Clint shifted down and put his lips back to Phil’s chest, sucking very gently on one nipple while he probed Phil’s ass with slick fingers. 

Phil moaned softly as Clint carefully eased in the tip of one finger, and Clint made a small sound in the back of his throat, muffled by Phil’s chest. Not only was Phil letting him do this, but Phil was obviously enjoying it. Clint was overwhelmed by the fact that he was making Phil feel good, giving him pleasure. He needed… something. He pulled his lips away from Phil’s chest and looked up.

“Sir, would you hold me by the hair?”

“Of course, if you’d like.” Phil slid a hand into Clint hair and gripped, not too tightly, but firmly. “Like this?”

“Yes, perfect. Thank you.”

Clint sighed. He felt better now, focused. Anchored. Clint smiled, closed his eyes, and went back to sucking gently on Phil’s nipple while he slowly worked one, then two of his long, slim fingers into Phil’s ass. He kept his movements slow, not wanting to risk causing the least bit of discomfort. He could feel a tension starting to build in Phil’s body, as if it wanted to respond but couldn’t. Phil’s cock was twitching against his leg, and every so often Phil would shift a little as if he was chasing more sensation from Clint’s fingers or lips. 

Clint’s fingers found the smooth roundness of Phil’s prostate and brushed it gently. Phil moaned. Clint pulled his mouth away from Phil’s nipple and looked up.

“Is that okay?”

“Feels wonderful.” Phil smiled down at him, and then tugged lightly on his hair. “Come here so I can kiss you.” 

Clint moved cautiously, stretching his neck up so that Phil could reach his lips. He saw Phil’s eyes go wide, and figured that Phil was appreciating seeing the collar around his neck and the marks he had left over the last two days.

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

Phil bent his head to press his lips to Clint’s. Clint expected a hard, insistent kiss and was surprised when instead he got one of the softest, gentlest, most tender kisses he’d ever received instead. Phil pulled back and looked into his eyes.

“I love you.”

Clint’s breath caught in his throat and it took a minute before he could answer,

“I love you too.”

Phil kissed him again, and this time it was hard and insistent, and when he pulled away, Phil said,

“More,” and shifted his hips a little to bear down on Clint’s fingers in his ass, to make it clear what he meant, and then taking his mouth again in another deep kiss.

Clint carefully worked a third finger into Phil’s tight hole, trying not to rush, trying to ignore the ache in his balls and keep himself from thrusting his hard, leaking dick into Phil’s thigh. The hand in his hair tightened, and Phil ground himself down on Clint’s fingers. 

“Want you,” Phil gasped, tearing his mouth away from Clint’s. “Want you now.”

“Okay, yeah. Okay.” 

Clint slid his fingers out of Phil’s ass and retrieved the lube to slick himself up. Then he started shifting into position.

“I… uh, could I… Would it be okay if I um… hold your legs?”

Phil smiled up at him.

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” Clint was surprised, and a little relieved. “Okay, let me just…” He maneuvered them both into position, his powerful arms under Phil’s muscular thighs, his dick nudging at Phil’s hole.

“Go slow.”

“I will. Real slow.” 

Clint edged forward, the head of his dick pressing in just a little. Phil moaned.

“Yes. Like that. That’s perfect. Perfect. Just like that.”

Clint was easing in as slowly as he could. Phil’s gasped words were driving him crazy with want and need and love and lust. 

“What do you want, Phil? Tell me how you like it. Tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

“Slow. Oh, God.” Clint bottomed out, his pelvis snug up against Phil’s ass. “As deep and as slow as you can. God. Yes. So good.”

Clint stared down into Phil’s eyes and pulled back out, long and slow, until just the head of his dick was still in Phil’s tight, hot ass. Then he pushed back in inch-by-inch, watching Phil’s face.

“Perfect. You’re fucking perfect,” Phil said.

“For you, Phil. Only for you. Always for you.” Clint leaned down to kiss him, giving short little thrusts of his hips while he did. Then, reaching for the same place of attentive calm he settled into when he was on a perch waiting to take a shot, he set a solid, slow rhythm. 

Clint could tell when the head of his dick was brushing across Phil’s prostate, because Phil’s whole body shivered uncontrollably. Clint clamped down on his own responses. Yes, Phil had said this was for him, but being inside Phil, fucking him, face-to-face so that he could see Phil’s expression, see how much pleasure he was giving Phil — that was everything he had ever wanted and more, and he was going to enjoy it for as long as he possibly could. He kept his angle and rhythm the same, watching, rapt as Phil shivered beneath him, and then started to moan.

“Clint,” Phil gasped out. “Fuck, Clint. I’m going to come. You’re going to make me come. Fuck me Clint. Hard. Fuck me hard.”

Clint didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He hitched Phil’s legs up a little higher to give himself a better angle and started to pound.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck. Clint.” Phil’s eyes were closed, but his hand unerringly found Clint’s face, then his neck, then his collar. Phil curled two fingers into the collar at the back of Clint’s neck, tightening it just a little. Just enough.

“Phil!” Clint gave up the control he’d been hanging onto. He was pounding into Phil while Phil held him by the collar. Phil was coming. He was coming…


	9. Epilogue

The most difficult part of Monday morning for Clint was that he kept wanting to grin. Widely. Hugely, in fact. As they walked the six blocks to SHIELD Headquarters, Clint felt like everyone they passed was staring at the collar he was wearing, and at the marks on his neck and arms. They weren't, of course, but Clint knew that once they got to Headquarters there would be covert looks and whispered rumors. Clint couldn't bring himself to mind in the least, but he didn't want to do anything that would embarrass Phil, so he kept his grin under wraps and tried to go with his signature smirk, instead. He did strut, though. Just a little. Okay, maybe more than a little.

In the front lobby, Phil stopped and turned to him.

"I'm sorry we can't have lunch together today, I have an interdepartmental meeting that's scheduled to run until 13:30."

"That's okay," Clint said. He hadn't thought about them eating lunch together, but of course they would, now, regularly. The grin threatened to come out again, but he managed to corral it into a small smile at Phil.

"If there's anything, though, during the day..." Phil sounded unusually vague and hesitant. "Anything at all, I want you to come to my office. Anytime. My door's always open for you, now. Always."

In Phil's eyes, Clint saw the deep emotion behind the words, and wanted to hug him or kiss him or say 'I love you, too,' or something, but none of that was appropriate in the SHIELD main lobby, so he just nodded.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks. I guess I'll see you later, then."

"Yes. Have a good day."

"Yeah, you too." Clint briefly flashed his Dom a wide smile, then turned and headed for the gym. As he walked through the corridors, he did get stared at. People who didn't know him saw the marks on his neck and arms and then looked quickly away, trying not to be impolite. People who did know him... Some of them stared outright. Some of them did a very amusing double-take. One colleague stopped dead in his tracks, open-mouthed, his eyes glued to the collar around Clint's neck. Clint's smirk grew wider and he nodded at the man as he passed. 

At the gym, he changed quickly into workout shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, carefully not stopping to look at himself in the big mirrors, though he wanted to. He went through his usual full-length cardio training and weight routine, steadfastly ignoring the surreptitious glances, pointed looks, and blatant stares. No one came up to talk to him, but he could see the whispers starting. He worked as hard at not grinning as he did at his bicep curls, and instead focused his eyes on a set of four small oval bruises on the inside of his arm, left by the pads of Phil's fingers.

Workout finished, he headed to change. As he stood by his locker and stripped off his shirt, there was an audible gasp from somewhere behind him, and a low whistle from somewhere to his left. He ignored both, wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped around the corner to the showers. The spray of hot water felt good on his bruised back, and he bit back a moan. He pushed the memories of Phil washing him from his mind, and instead tried to mimic his Dom's showering economy.

Back at his locker, he dressed in his shooting gear and grabbed his bow case. At the range, there were even more stares, which was unsurprising, because everyone at the range knew him, or at least recognized him. Everyone there knew he hadn't been wearing a collar on Friday. Clint buried his grin and set himself up in the archery lane. He felt the welts on his back and chest with every draw of his bow, but his aim never wavered. He shot for a long time, and settling back into the familiar routine of 'nock, draw, aim, release' after the upheaval of the past few days left him feeling calm and centered. 

After a trip back to his locker to stow his bow and shooting gear, his stomach gave a grumble. It was almost 13:00, and a couple of toasted bagels with peanut butter at Phil's place-their place, he corrected in his head-for breakfast was less than what he was used to eating in the SHIELD cafeteria in the mornings. He put 'food shopping' on his mental list of things he needed to talk to Phil about when they started to discuss the logistics of living together. He headed for the cafeteria, head held high, and strutting more than a little.

Standing in line, he kept his eyes on his tray of food and tried to keep his grin under control. One of the servers stared at his neck, obviously wanting to say something, but keeping silent as she spooned out his portion of lasagna. He raised his head to scan the tables for a familiar face, and was relieved to spot Tyler at a table by himself. 

"Hey buddy," Clint said, putting his tray down on the table and dropping into the unoccupied chair.

"Clint," Tyler smiled up at him. "So the rumors I've been hearing all morning are true, then," he said with a significant look at Clint's neck. "You've been collared."

"Yup," Clint said, and put a forkful of lasagna in his mouth.

"There was a lively discussion in the barracks this morning about starting a pool on who your new Dom was. I pointed out that it wouldn't be fair, because someone in HR is sure to leak whoever's name is on your change-of-status forms before the end of the day."

Clint let the wide grin that he'd been suppressing all morning come out.

"What makes you so sure I'd get the paperwork in right away?" he asked.

"Oh, you wouldn't. You'd get around to it next week sometime, if you remembered. But Coulson will have submitted it, complete and correct, ten minutes after he got to his office this morning."

Clint shot Tyler a hard stare, and then laughed.

"Yeah, you got it. You could've won yourself some cash though. You should have gotten in on that pool."

"Nah, no fun when it's a sure thing."

"Sure thing, huh?"

"Come on Clint, the way you talk about him-there's no way it could be anyone else. I gotta say, though, I'm surprised at how... obvious he was." Tyler waved his fork at the marks on Clint's neck and arms.

"He's got a possessive streak. He likes it. I like it." 

"Good." Tyler nodded and smiled. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," Clint said, and turned his attention back to his meal. He was just finishing his fruit salad, and trying to ignore the fact that his dick was twitching at the memories of Phil feeding him pieces of melon, when someone came up to their table.

"Agent Barton?"

"Yes?" 

"Director Fury would like to see you in his office immediately."

"What did you fuck up this time, Barton?" Tyler asked with a grin.

"Nothing that I can remember-not recently, anyway. Maybe it's a top-secret mission. Catch you later." Clint pushed his chair back and followed the admin to Fury's office.

He stood, nervous but carefully hiding it by standing perfectly still rather than shifting from foot-to-foot, while the admin knocked on Fury's door and poked her head in to announce him. 

"Go ahead, Agent," she said. "The Director will see you now." Clint squared his shoulders and walked into Fury's office. His steps faltered when he saw Phil already there, facing Fury's desk with his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"Barton, good." Fury put the papers he'd been looking at down on his desk, stood up, and gestured for Clint to stand next to Phil. Clint glanced sideways, trying to get some clue as to what was going on.

"Eyes front, Barton," Fury barked, and Clint snapped to attention and stared straight ahead. Now he was worried. Was there something wrong? Had Phil broken one of the rules by collaring him? Clint knew that Phil had some sort of personal relationship with Fury, maybe he had counted on Fury to look the other way; though that didn't sound like the Phil Coulson he knew... 

"I received a call from a very concerned HR administrator an hour ago, saying that she'd had no less than three reports of a Submissive agent who appeared to be unfit for duty."

"I assure you, sir - " Phil started to say, but Fury cut him off.

"Are you suggesting that I shouldn't investigate reports of a Sub being abused, Agent Coulson?"

Clint kept his mouth shut, even though he desperately wanted to speak up, to explain that he was fine, to tell Fury how careful Phil had been to make sure that he'd be able to shoot... But Clint knew that Phil wouldn't want him to speak until he was asked a direct question, and so he didn't say anything.

"No, sir, of course not."

"Take off your shirt Agent Barton." 

"Sir?" Clint's voice nearly squeaked.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" 

"No sir." Clint pulled his t-shirt over his head and stood still while Fury's one eye raked across his skin. His bruised, marked skin.

"Turn around." Clint turned, and his self-control cracked. 

"I know what it looks like, sir. But - "

"Did I ask you for an explanation, Agent?"

"No sir."

"I take it your bottom half is more of the same."

"Yes sir," Clint said, starting to worry. Surely Phil wouldn't be in any trouble. What a Dom did to their Sub was between them, as long as it was consensual. And he was perfectly fit for duty. Hell, anyone who'd seen him working out in the gym or shooting at the range this morning could attest to that. If only Fury would let him explain...

"Turn back around." Clint turned and now he thought he saw a sparkle in Fury's eye, and the faintest trace of a smile on his face.

"You always were an artist with a whip, Cheese," Fury said to Phil, with an admiring shake of his head, and "Put your shirt back on," to Clint. 

As he was pulling his shirt back over his head he risked a sideways glance at Phil and saw that the tips of his ears were pink. Fury stood in front of Clint, regarding him steadily.

"Phillip Coulson is one of my oldest and closest friends. I don't have to tell you to be good for him, do I Barton?"

"No sir."

"Good. And as for you," Fury stepped over in front of Phil. "I'm glad you finally got your head out of your ass and sorted this out. Even if I did have to kick you in the butt to get you to do it. Don't fuck it up."

"Not planning to, sir," Phil said. Clint could hear the smile in his voice, and heaved a sigh of relief. Fury and Phil were friends. Close friends. And Fury had been messing with Phil. It was going to take Clint a while to wrap his head around that, but at least it meant Phil wasn't in trouble.

"Good. Your HR-735 change-of-status forms are officially approved by me, and I'll be reassuring HR that the Sub in question was able to shoot forty bull's-eyes in a row on the range this morning, which makes him perfectly fit for duty by my definition."

"Thank you, sir," Clint and Phil said simultaneously, and then glanced at each other, trying to smother matching grins.

"Good. Dismissed. Both of you."

Phil turned and walked out of Fury's office. Clint followed him. They headed down the corridor, walking shoulder-to-shoulder. Clint didn't bother hiding his grin anymore. He was Coulson's Sub now, and everyone knew it. Things were going to be fine. Better than fine. Things were going to be great.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so very much to my exceptional beta-readers: [Shazrolane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shazrolane), [infiniteeight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight), and [TheExclamation](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheExclamation). I couldn’t have done it without your help.
> 
> Keep up to date on my writing [via my Tumblr blog](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/).


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